Sixth Time's the Charm
by RainMirror
Summary: Gaston was not Belle's first betrothed, nor was it the first arranged marriage Rumpelstiltskin had saved her from. Should be five or six chapters.
1. Chapter 1: Seen But Not Heard

_This story was inspired by Episode 14, in which Belle tells Dreamy "I've had my heart broken enough to know when someone is reaching out." To me, this meant that she has been in a failed relationship more than once. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 1: Seen But Not Heard**

The deal was struck with the clasping of hands and the signing of the document. It was a short deed, as far as marriage contracts went, specifying only that the hand of Princess Belle, daughter of King Maurice and Queen Elena was to be given to Prince James, son of King George and Queen Penelope, on her eighteenth birthday.

The finer points, such as the dowry, the re-establishment of boundaries and sharing of resources, would be discussed over the coming years and finalized exactly one year before the wedding.

The bride and groom to-be were strangely silent during the negotiations, raising their voices only when a soother had strayed from tiny lips or a bottom needed to be changed. The babes were laid together in a wide wicker basket and placed in the center of the ornate round table, while dignitaries and advisors casually discussed such mundane matters as Belle's virginity and number of children to be reared.

All in all, the two kings were quite pleased with the outcome. King George admired his counterpart's vast wealth and resources; the dowry would be substantial and could potentially save the Kingdom from financial ruin in the future. King Maurice, on the other hand, looked forward to the safety and protection his people would receive from the union. His villages were full of craftsmen and sailors, not soldiers. It would be a prosperous merger on both sides.

A baby's first word is one to be treasured forever. For most, it is a jumble of mismatched sounds loved ones swear sounded like actual words, such as mama or papa. Not for Belle. Her servants spent countless hours carefully enunciating syllables so that when she finally managed to sputter them out it was clearly recognizable. Her first word, as ordered, was James.

Despite the great distance that separated the betrothed couple, James quickly became the center of her life.

Belle's education included many subjects besides reading, writing and arithmetic. She had to learn the vast histories of both her own Kingdom and that of her future husband's. She was instructed in the art of polite conversation, mediation, and strategic thinking. It wasn't enough to learn everything there was to know to be Queen, she was required to learn everything there was to know about her fiancé.

Queen Penelope corresponded regularly, providing a vast amount of intimate knowledge of her son's likes, dislikes and interests. It was important that she be knowledgeable on those subjects that interest him the most. She was to study his accomplishments with both the sword and riding; she was to learn which foods he favored and how he took his tea.

After all, her tutors would remind her, she wasn't just going to be Queen someday; she was going to be _his_ Queen.

"You look beautiful, my sweet," said King Maurice on her seventeenth birthday. "If only your mother were still alive. She worked so hard for this day and now that it has finally arrived it just doesn't feel the same without her."

"Thank you, Papa," said Belle as she smoothed the wrinkles from her new yellow gown. They had only just arrived at King George's palace that afternoon and her dress had not yet settled from the journey. "I'm sure she would have been very happy today."

He kissed her forehead lightly and took her arm in his. At the sound of the orchestra, they descended the long winding staircase. Dozens of nobles stood waiting at the bottom, all dressed in their finery. The women were frosted in jewels and the men drenched in gold. It was quite the sight to behold but Belle only had eyes for one.

James, dressed in a white silk shirt and red velvet jacket, waited patiently at the foot of the stairs, ready to take her hand. Their engagement was to be officially announced today, one year from the day they recite their vows. She had worked her entire life for this moment. She was giddy with anticipation.

"You are truly worthy of your name, Belle," he crooned as she placed her gloved hand into his own. He raised it to his lips and kissed it. She felt herself blush from head to toe.

In the seventeen years since the agreement was first signed, they had seen each other a total of four times, the most recent one being three years previously at the wedding of another royal couple. They had danced and shared the obligatory public kiss, but that was as much intimacy as they have shared.

Tonight everything would change. Tonight they would be officially engaged.

"Belle, darling," sung Queen Penelope, "your dress is simply stunning! Just think how nice it would have been had you aired it out properly."

Queen Penelope was known for her thinly veiled insults. Belle had enough contact with her over the years to know that she could never live up to the Queen's expectations. No one, in her mind, would ever be good enough to marry her son.

"Come now, dear," chided King George. "Belle is such a _natural_ beauty that she could wear rags and still be considered the fairest of them all."

"Of course, darling," she murmured, sending him a dark look. She took Belle's arm and led her to a table filled with hors d'oeuvres, canapés and punch. "I do hope you had a chance to study my last letter. It contained some very important information about James's most recent exploits. We can't have you appearing ignorant, dear. You must at least give the _impression_ of being intelligent."

Stunned at the outright disrespect of the Queen, Belle freed her arm and made her way towards her father, not caring if her behavior was considered rude. How dare she! Belle was a member of the royal family for goodness sakes!

King Maurice was already into the champagne, his cheeks pinking slightly. James also had a glass but it seemed untouched. Apparently her future husband was not much of a drinker. That was a relief to know. As much as she adored her father, she was becoming increasingly concerned about his drinking since the death of her mother.

Belle spent most of the evening dancing with older men she had never met. Queen Penelope assured her that they were all important political allies and should not be snubbed. She herself declined several invitations, however, always pawning them off on the bride-to-be. At least Belle enjoyed dancing. It was one of the few times she truly felt free!

James spent most of the evening in the company of his knights, standing in the corner and taking discreet sips from a flask that was being passed around. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy when she spotted him ogling a pretty servant presenting him with mead. Perhaps he was just as jealous of the men she danced with? The thought was more comforting than convincing.

They were due to be 'presented' at midnight in front of everyone as the two Kings shook hands and congratulated one another. It was tradition for the Prince to take his future betrothed aside privately and ask for her hand in marriage, as if she had any choice in the matter. It was merely a formality but one that Belle had been anticipating her entire life.

By eleven, James had barely spoken her. He was no longer hiding his drink from the guests but clearly enjoying it openly, now singing a jaunty tune with his mates. She could make out a few words, something about a ship being docked by several sailors. Perhaps it was a fishing song.

By eleven thirty her feet ached from dancing and she was feeling more than a little neglected. She decided that if he wouldn't take initiative then she would.

"James?" she asked cautiously, squeezing her way through the inebriated knights.

"There's my Beauty!" he cried drunkenly, wrapping his arms possessively around her waist. "What do you think, boys? Will she do?"

They laughed raucously and elbowed each other in the ribs. They towered over her and several stared openly down the front of her dress. She felt her cheeks burn in shame and wished she had worn a more conservative gown.

"James, may we go for a walk? Alone?" she added.

"But we're having such a good time here, darling," he slurred, winking at his friends. "Why don't you keep us company for a while?"

She felt a light tap on her bottom which made her jump in surprise. Both of James's hands were in her sight. Whose hand had just stroked her?

"I insist, James!" she scolded, leading him towards the door.

"You hear that, men? She's nagging me already and we're not yet married!"

The last thing she heard as she dragged him through the doors to the garden was the unruly laughter of those sworn to protect their lands.

A few guests were wandering about the lit gardens, enjoying the heady scent of roses and a few moments of solitude. Belle walked past a couple in a passionate embrace but was too angry to feel sorry for destroying their romantic interlude. James clearly felt the same way.

"Leave us!" he commanded harshly, waving his arms drunkenly towards the ball.

The young couple scurried away, bowing deeply as they passed.

"What is your problem, my lady?" he demanded once they were alone. "You were very rude to my friends!"

"I was rude? You acted entirely inappropriately! I'm not one of your conquests, James. I am to be your wife and I demand to be treated with respect!"

His opened palm connected with the left side of her face so quickly she never had time to react. Her cheek stung where the slap had connected, bringing hot tears of shame to her eyes.

"You want to be treated like a wife?" he asked feverishly. "Fine. Let's begin tonight."

He grabbed her upper arm and dragged her past the gardens to the west wall, far from prying eyes and curious ears. He towered over her slight frame and she could no more fight him off than she could move mountains. Once safely enshrouded by darkness, he grabbed her chin in one hand and forced his lips to hers.

This was not like the chaste kiss they had once shared, nor the amorous embrace of the young lovers from the garden. This was powerful and aggressive. He tasted of drink and desperation. There was no love in it, only dominance.

"Stop it, James!" She attempted to struggle but he pressed his body against hers and held her tightly against the wall. "Stop right now or I'll scream!"

He pulled away slightly, using one hand to cover her mouth, forcing her face up to look into his eyes. "Hasn't anyone ever told you, Belle? Princesses are meant to be seen but not heard."

He pulled roughly at her dress, tearing the sleeves. "Now let's have a look."

Her arms were pinned, her dress hanging in tatters and no one could see or hear her. Desperate, she did the only thing she could. She kicked her knee up between his legs as hard as possible. As he crumpled to the ground she ran as fast as her heeled shoes could take her. Before she could even reach the safety of the light, however, he caught her around the waist and carried her away.

Rumpelstiltskin loved a good party. Tonight he had business to attend to, but he fully planned on joining the festivities near the end of the night. Queen Penelope was one of his best customers, obsessed with beauty and youth. He had provided her many potions and enchantments over the years but always ensured they were never everlasting, this one due to wear off around midnight.

After all, what type of a businessman would he be if he didn't ensure the future need of his services?

She was clearly jealous of her son's fiancé. Apparently the girl's name meant 'Beauty.' How can she be expected to compete with that? The glamour charm he placed on her this evening would ensure that no one could see the deep lines in her forehead nor the many laugh lines in her eyes. Surely nothing is _that_ funny!

He was tempted to go see the young couple as well. The Prince-who-was-not-born-a-prince had been procured by him years ago and it had been some time since he had 'checked up' on him.

Despite his reputation, he never stole children and always insured they went to proper families. He liked to keep an eye on them once in a while to ensure that his 'gifts' were being properly cared for.

This one must be eighteen or nineteen by now, already a man. Well, he could at least get a peek at the bride, see what all the fuss is about.

He appeared in the gardens first, planning on making a grand entrance. He was nothing if not a showman. As he straightened his spiky dragon hide jacket, he was distracted by a muffled scream.

Knowledge is power. One never knew what information could be of use later on. With a pressing need to satisfy his curiosity, he abandoned the thought of joining the party and went in search of the noise.

He appeared on top of the tall north wall and used the height to his advantage. This area was not well lit but that was no problem for him. Darkness was his friend, his only companion. He thought the sound of scuffling was coming from the west where the walls over the cliff were not as high, offering a spectacular view. He was about to magic himself closer when he spotted a flash of yellow topple over the side, fluttering down the cliff to the rocks below.

Someone had either jumped, or more likely due to the noise, been pushed.

He found a crumpled form in a yellow dress floating in the still water, having somehow missed the rocks by mere meters. He waded in to collect the body, wanting to at least know the identity of the poor, unfortunate soul.

His heart plummeted when he reached it. She was such a short thing, about the size of his lost son, Baelfire. She must be around the same age, then, thirteen or fourteen.

If there was one thing he despised, it was violence against a child.

As he lifted her tiny frame, he noticed gentle curves and a round chest through the tattered gown. So not a child but a young woman, he thought. He carefully wiped sodden chestnut curls from her face and was suddenly struck by her beauty. Surely she had the most beautiful face he had ever seen!

He took in her jewels and dress, noting the fine craftsmanship that could only be afforded by royalty. This must be the bride-to-be. This must be Princess Belle.

He had not heard any whispers of an assassination attempt. Information was his bread and butter, trading on it more often than magic. Whoever had done this had either been extremely careful or incredibly stupid. He guessed the latter.

The body in his arms twitched and a soft moan escaped her cold lips. She was not quite dead yet after all. The Dark One was a selfish being by nature, never doing anything without receiving something in return. Rumpelstiltskin, however, had once been a father and knew that he could not allow this young woman, this child, to die without at least trying.

He ran his hands over her body, not quite touching, allowing his magic to spread throughout every tissue. Her liver had been punctured with a sharp blow and he repaired it with a thought. Bones that were shattered due to the fall or beating (for there were signs of a struggle on her face and arms) mended themselves perfectly. He thought of his own poorly healed war injury and how he had been in pain every day until he became the Dark One. She would not feel such pain.

He sincerely regretted leaving the bruises and cuts that marred her delicate body. He removed any traces of pain but he wanted her to be found with them. He wanted them to see what had been done to her. He knew that the word of a woman, especially such a young one, would go unheard without concrete evidence.

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked around in fright.

Idiot, he thought. The last thing a frightened, broken princess needed upon opening her eyes was the sight in front of her. He was the stuff of nightmares and knew that she would now be doubly scared.

She looked down at the remains of her dress and pure panic appeared on her face. Of course she would think the worst of him. He would never, ever take advantage of a woman like that, but she did not know him. No one knew him.

He made to leave when a cold hand grasped his arm, weakly tugging him back. Her breathing was labored and came out in huffs, but he was still able to make out the two words that struggled from her lips. "Thank….you…"

"Are you alright, child?" Yes, it was best to think of her as a poor, frightened child. He was always better around children than women.

"You….you saved…me," she sputtered, her teeth chattering from the cold or shock. He quickly cast a charm that enveloped her in the warmth of a hot, summer's day. Her body relaxed enough to stop the shivers that ravaged her.

"You fell," he explained. "I healed you."

"Pushed," she whispered.

So it _was_ an assassination attempt. Perhaps she had seen who was behind it. "Who did this to you, dearie?"

"James…Prince James…drunk…"

So the Prince-who-was-not-born-a-prince was not much of a man either. Only a coward would attack a woman, especially one half his size.

Her eyes fluttered closed again as the magic began to draw from her body, making her drowsy. She needed to rest. First, however, she needed to be found by the right people. He sent a thought to any guards loyal to Belle to suddenly have an urge to walk across the west wall. With any luck there was already a search in place. It was no trouble to have them look down and spot her; her yellow dress was quite visible even in the dead of night. The only potential problem was him. She knows that he was not involved in the attack but no one else would believe that. He was the monster that preyed on the innocent, after all.

"I must go, dearie, but I promise you will be found. Remember to tell them who did this to you. Do not mention me, child. It will make things worse."

"Please, do not leave me," she whimpered. What a strange child, to be more afraid of the darkness than the Dark One. "Please."

How could he deny such a request? No one has ever sought out his company before, not without wanting something in return. With a snap of his fingers he was invisible to everyone but her. Not even search dogs would detect his presence.

She remained silent until the first guard found her lying just out of the water, and called for more men. He watched as she was covered by a cloak and carried up the embankment to be transferred to her father's arms. He stayed with her until she was safely inside and he heard her say the words he prayed she would remember.

"Prince James…attacked me…threw me over the wall."

Rumpelstiltskin was nothing if not patient. After all, he has waited centuries to complete a curse that would enable him to find his son and he was nearly finished. Just another decade or so and he'll have it.

In this case, however, he truly struggled to fight the overwhelming urge to turn the bastard Prince into a snail immediately. He had even picked out a pair of boots with which to squish him!

He heard the wedding had been called off but no word as to the true reason why. Apparently George was keeping tight lipped on the matter. The Prince was still out and about, prancing around on his horse and bedding every scullery maid that would have him. He had had the chance to marry a beautiful, kind woman and instead had thrown her over a cliff.

What an idiot!

Princess Belle on the other hand had disappeared from public life, choosing instead to stay close to home. He couldn't blame her. Her pig fiancé had tried to kill her in a drunken stupor. That wasn't something from which one recovered quickly.

No, turning into a snail was too good for him. He needed to die, but not yet. Without Belle's dowry King George's Kingdom would surely fall into despair. It was only time before the Prince would be recruited to use his sword skills for hire.

He needed only to wait until the opportune moment when he could bring in the bastard's twin brother for a great price. He could wait. Then he would arrange for the Prince to come to an untimely end.

Yes, patience is a virtue. It is also the only one he has in spades.


	2. Chapter 2: Insufferably Snoopy

_I've taken a lot of creative liberty for this chapter. Also, I left many hints as to the Storybrooke identity of her next fiancé. See if you can figure it out! Enjoy!  
_

**Chapter 2: Insufferably Snoopy**

Five years have passed since the disaster that was Prince James. King George had apologized profusely for his inebriated son, blaming it on a combination of nerves and too much champagne. King Maurice was not easily placated, however, insisting that the union be dissolved. While he desperately wanted the protection of George's army for his own people, he was more concerned with the protection of his beloved daughter. Nothing was more precious to him than her safety and wellbeing.

An agreement had been reached that appeased both sides. Belle would never again mention the events of that night to another soul and George generously signed over a particularly wealthy piece of land on their border. Between Penelope's expensive pursuit of youth and James's troublesome shenanigans, the kingdom would be bankrupt within a decade.

Officially, the dissolution of the engagement was due to irreconcilable differences in the distribution of land and resources.

Unofficially, it was due to James being a sadistic pig.

For the first time in Belle's young life, her world did not revolve around _him_. She was free to read the books that she adored, learn new skills or crafts for her own enjoyment, and reveled in the severing of ties with Queen Penelope!

Her loving father allowed her the time she desperately needed to become her own person. After four years of self-discovery, however, she was told that it was time for a new suitor to be found. Word quickly spread throughout the Enchanted Forest that the hand in marriage of a beautiful twenty-one year old princess was up for grabs. The response was overwhelming!

A council was created with the specific task of choosing her husband. Marriage contracts poured in by the thousands! Hundreds of nobles vied for the chance of a one-on-one audience with the committee to prove their worth. After a year of debate, the list was carefully scrutinized and narrowed down to a few dozen before King Maurice and Belle were included. She was dying to get her hands on those scrolls and see what her innocence was going for. She hated the thought of being bartered like cattle!

"I wish to read these before a selection is made," she declared during one such meeting, feeling particularly brave that morning.

"Do not be concerned with those, my Princess," said the oily voice of a councilman. "Those _boring_ contracts are our burden to bear. Trust me. They are of no interest to a fine Lady, such as yourself. You worry about the wedding dress and trousseau while we work on fetching you a husband."

"You mean fetching the best price?" she replied vehemently.

"My dear," her father said carefully, "it is your duty to put the needs of your people before your own. That is the price of royalty."

"I will do my duty, Papa. But I demand to have a say in deciding my own fate!"

"I'm sorry, love. We know what is best."

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A week after her twenty-second birthday, Belle found herself once again traveling, this time by ship, to a strange village far from home. Instead of hopeful anticipation, she felt overwhelming dread. At least with James she knew enough about him to make conversation, even if she hadn't known who is he really was inside.

Perhaps it is better this way, she thought to herself. There are no expectations this time. We'll have the rest of our lives to learn about each other. Love is a mystery to be uncovered! Perhaps this time will be better.

"Don't worry, Petal," said her father, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "The Duke's son is a good man, you'll see. They have a fine estate on the coast. The Duke and Duchess will be traveling after the wedding so they have generously offered the two of you the use of their home in their absence. That way you may have some time away from all the gossip and eyes of court to get to know each other. I know how much you love the sea. I'm sure you'll be happy there."

"I hope so. Papa?" she began tentatively, wrapping her arms protectively around her waist. "May I please see the marriage contract? If I am to be a good wife then I need to know the conditions that are in place."

"Do not worry, child." He removed his cloak and draped it across her, mistaking her fear and discomfort for a chill. "All you need to know is that he wishes to have three children, one and a half years apart, and you may have your own quarters should you so desire, after the first child is conceived."

"Oh, is that all?" she scoffed.

"Just think of the children you'll have. They will be your shining light in life. The joy you'll experience from them will outshine any unhappiness this marriage may convey at first."

He spoke with such certainty that a smile spread unbidden to her lips. Her Papa was a good man. He truly only wished the very best for her, as any father would.

"Ahead, my Liege!" cried the Captain at the wheel. "The bay is in sight."

"Belle, you will enjoy this! Look ahead as we approach the harbor. This is quite the phenomenon."

Confused, Belle leaned forward and eagerly searched the horizon. She didn't know for what but she was now intrigued. She saw an egg shaped bay surrounded by rolling hills and rugged cliffs. A large house, most likely her betrothed's estate, stood proudly above the vast fishing village. There was something about the placement of the hills and buildings that rubbed her the wrong way.

"It's a face!" she cried. Yes, she could make out the features now. The uneven rocky terrain shaped an eerie set of eyes that seemed to follow her despite the ship's passage through the cove. The main house sat below and to the center, creating a distinguished nose. The village curved slightly at one end, forming a smile that mocked their arrival. The bay itself seemed to flow out of the face like a long, fluid beard.

"It is amazing, Papa!" She had always wanted to see the world beyond her castle. If nothing good came of her nuptials then at least she was able to see this new land. "What is this village called?"

"Bluebeard, my dear. Come. Your new husband awaits."

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"My dear Princess! Welcome to our humble abode," said Edward, Duke of Bluebeard, clasping her hands warmly. "We are so honored by your presence and look forward to the joining of our two families."

"Thank you, sir," said Belle, curtseying. "The honor is mine. Your village is quite lovely. I look forward to exploring it while I am here."

"Of course. All that we have is yours." He gestured to a young man behind him, beckoning him forward. He was a handsome fellow with wavy blond hair that fell lazily across an oval face.

His gray-blue eyes showed relief at the sight of her. Clearly she wasn't the only one who felt trepidation over their union. His gaze lingered a moment longer than was appropriate over the bodice of her gown, making her slightly uncomfortable, and his eyes darkened in desire.

"I would like to introduce to you my pride and joy. Princess Belle, this is my youngest son, John."

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Belle," he purred, reaching out for her hand and placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles.

"We are preparing a lovely feast in honor of your visit, your Majesty," said the Duchess as she boldly hooked her arm through Maurice's. "Why don't we retire to the study for drinks while John gives Belle a tour of the grounds?"

"That's sounds marvelous! You two lovebirds have fun." He winked at his daughter and allowed the Duchess to steer him away.

John cleared his throat loudly and ran his hands across his tunic, smoothing out invisible creases. He shot her a sly smile and gestured to a set of double doors. "My lady?"

"Lead the way. And please, call me Belle."

"Of course, my lady. Belle."

The grounds were vast but spread up and down the cliffs in many layers. She loved the stone steps and paths that seemed to go on forever. The setting sun transformed the water in the bay from blue to orange, setting the sea on fire. They watched from a marble balcony surrounded by climbing vines and blooming narcissus. Belle imagined how romantic the setting would be had she actually been in love with the man standing beside her.

"I love this place," he murmured. "I come here every evening to listen to the sea. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I can hear the whales signing to each other as they travel through the bay, looking for fish." He pointed vaguely towards the cove while placing the other arm casually over her shoulders. "I'm going to miss this place."

Surprised by his honest moment of vulnerability, Belle clasped the hand that held her shoulder. "I'm sorry you have to leave. But perhaps you'll come to love my village and castle as much. What will you miss the most?"

He remained so silent that Belle looked up and saw a pained expression on his face. He must really love his home. "John?"

"My work," he replied, shaking his head sadly. "I enjoy my work."

"Well, I'm sure being a Duke and King cannot be too different," she teased.

He snorted, not a particularly pleasant sound, and shook his head. "No, not that. My father and brothers rule the land. I….create art."

"An artist! You'll fit right in then. My people are known for their artistry and craftsmanship. This is such a pleasant surprise."

"I never do what's expected," he laughed. "It keeps life interesting."

"May I see your work sometime?"

"No!" he forcefully said, his face transforming into something dark and menacing. "I'm sorry, but my work is my own. I do not share it with others."

Belle felt uneasy at his sudden outburst. Apparently he was a very private person. Everyone deserves to have a secret, however, something that was just for them. Perhaps in time…

"Do you plan on continuing your art at my palace?" she asked cautiously.

The angry lines smoothed away and he tentatively smiled. "I would like to, very much. It brings me such…peace."

"Then you must do it," she said assuredly.

"Thank you," he whispered, removing the hand wrapped around her. "I imagine dinner is almost ready. Come, let's head back inside."

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Dinner was surprisingly delightful. The Duchess, or Nicole as she insisted, was the complete opposite of Queen Penelope. She was easy with her praise and compliments. Perhaps it was due to her station in life, looking up to Belle as opposed to down, but she seemed to genuinely approve of her.

John insisted that she try a bite of everything at the table. The seafood was as fresh as could be, having been caught just hours before. She almost gagged on the oysters, however, and was thankfully saved from any embarrassment when her father knocked over a goblet of wine, his fourth of the evening. He seemed to be truly enjoying the attention lavished upon him by Nicole.

A maid scurried out to clean up the mess and Belle got quite an eyeful of the young lady's bosom as she reached across the table. She fought the urge to roll her eyes as she caught John leering at the cleavage, a hungry look in his eyes. Perhaps the clause of separate bedrooms was not for her own benefit but for her husband's.

"Did you enjoy your walk, Princess?" asked the Duke, apparently oblivious to the inappropriate behavior of his wife and son. Or perhaps, thought Belle glumly, that it was a common occurrence.

"I did, thank you. Your grounds are lovely and the view of the sea magnificent!"

"As I said before, dear, you are of course welcome to venture anywhere you'd like. No door is barred to you."

John cleared his throat loudly and gave his father a pointed look. "Except for my workshop, father." He turned to Belle, looking almost apologetic. "No one enters but me. Ever."

"Of course," she replied sincerely. "And where would that be, so that I might not accidently enter?"

"I have a cabin in the woods, away from the village. I prefer the solitude."

Belle nodded solemnly. She took a drink of wine, trying to will the nagging doubts from her mind. Many artists demanded solitude, she told herself. It made sense. They needed to shy away from distractions in order to create. Her trepidation was simply due to her experience with James.

Really, what's the harm? Worst case scenario, he sneaks women into the cabin to bed them. She did not love this man and he did not love her. If that was the worst he did then she could learn to look the other way.

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Belle spent the following week wandering about the village of Bluebeard. She enjoyed speaking to the residents about their work, their interests and to learn any information she could about her future husband.

Most were welcoming and easy to talk to. They were happy that their Lord's son would someday become King and wished her all the happiness in the world.

Others, however, were quiet and guarded. Only one person dared to say anything negative.

"So you're the prize, eh?" asked an old lady at the apothecary, smoking a foul smelling pipe.

"I beg your pardon?" Belle asked, assuming she misheard. Surely no one would be so bold!

"You heard me," she replied with a cackle. "The Virgin Princess. Tell me, how much does royal innocence go for these days?"

Belle chose not to dignify that question with a response and made to leave. Before she reached the door's worn, homespun cover the old woman called her back.

"Something evil has taken root in him."

"Whoever do you mean?" Belle asked cautiously.

"You're betrothed," she replied simply. "You're afraid of him. I can see it in your eyes. There's something about him that aint right. Trust your instincts, child."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Now please excuse me. My escorts are waiting."

She practically ran from the shop, ignoring the concerned looks from her father's guards. No longer in the mood to explore the shops, she feigned a headache and asked to return to the household.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Where is John?" she asked at dinner that evening, noting his absence. She had barely laid eyes on him in two days.

"Oh, he said something about a new project taking up his time," replied Nicole, waving her hand dismissively. "When he becomes inspired there is nothing that can drag him away."

"I see," she murmured, disappointed. She knew they may never fall in love but she had hoped that they could at least be friends and spend time together. Especially now, before they were joined for life!

"What type of art does he create? Does he use paint or clay? Is he a woodcarver or metal worker?"

"Goodness, child, I have no idea! He's very private, always has been."

"I think perhaps carving," added Rufus, John's eldest brother and future Duke. "I've seen him purchase sharp instruments and knives."

The Duke emptied the last of the wine into his goblet and looked to his majordomo standing silently against the wall. "Merton, where is the scullery maid? We are out of refreshments!"

"I'm sorry, my Lord, but we have not seen her all day. I shall fetch another servant immediately."

"My apologies, Belle," sighed Nicole. "It is so difficult to find decent help around here. I'm sure you never have this problem at the castle."

Belle smiled politely but felt a growing unease in her stomach. She was simply projecting her own fears unto her fiancé, that's all. He has done nothing that should cause concern, but still….

She wiped her mouth with a napkin and stood up. "Thank you for dinner. It was lovely as always. If you don't mind, I think I'll go for a walk around the grounds for a bit."

Maurice's face was red and blotchy from drink. "Would you like an escort or two, dear?"

"No, thank you, Papa. I won't wander far from the house. Good night, everyone."

Her cloaks were far too colorful and noticeable for tonight's purpose so she borrowed one in midnight black from the cupboard near the entrance. She carefully hid her hair behind the hood and set off on the well-worn stone path that led out into the woods.

The sun still hovered above the sea but would be setting soon enough. She had never ventured out in this direction and was unsure how far his cabin might be. Hopefully she would reach it before darkness fell.

Twenty minutes later she came across an ancient stone building that seemed to be held together by mud. Despite the warm evening, every window was boarded shut and smoke emerged from the crumbling chimney. Surely this couldn't be it!

Her nose detected a foul stench as she approached. She removed a silk handkerchief from the sleeve of her tunic and pressed it against her face. It did little to help.

She searched the windows and walls for a crack or peephole in which to peer through but no such luck. Everything was sealed tightly. The smell was definitely coming from the cabin though. No amount of stone could prevent it from seeping through. While she hadn't much experience with blacksmiths or metallurgists, she was certain that they did not produce such odors.

A sudden noise to her right had her scrambling behind an oak tree for protection. She saw John emerge from the door, shirtless and clad in stained breeches, and headed to a well. His body was slick from sweat. He collected some fresh water, retrieved a bar of soap and began to wash his face, arms and torso.

Belle felt her body flush from head to toe. He was not yet her husband and she felt it was scandalous to watch such an intimate act without his knowledge. When he removed the bottoms she respectfully hid her eyes behind the tree. She peeked her head out several minutes later and was relieved to find him dressing in the fine clothes he had worn that morning. After securing the cabin's only door, he hid the key in the knot of a tree and headed off on the same path she had just traversed.

In her head, she counted to thirty then quietly emerged from behind her hiding place. She headed for the tree near the well and palmed the key. It was a curious key, made of smooth, milky-white ivory.

The door and its lock were well constructed. They would seem more at home at the entrance to an armory or vault, not a poor cabin in the middle of the woods. The key turned smoothly in the lock and the door silently opened.

The stench was even worse than she imagined! She did not wait for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Instead, she carefully made her way to the dying embers of the fire and used them to light a lamp.

Something cold brushed her head as she stood up. Feeling a growing panic, she quickly swung the candle around to bring light to that corner. There was nothing there. Frowning, she looked up.

A gray hand lay dangling from a hook suspended from the ceiling! Not just one hand, but several hands and feet of different shades and sizes littered the top half of the cabin. She dropped the ivory key and it made a splashing sound as it touched the ground. The dirt floor was flooded with puddles of blood!

Stifling a scream, she backed away as quickly as possible until she connected with a wooden table. She turned her head from the hanging limbs only to discover a more harrowing sight. A mutilated body lay in pieces on the makeshift operating table.

She had found the missing scullery maid.

"My, my, aren't you insufferable snoopy?" rumbled a silkily smooth voice from the entrance.

"John!" she gasped, feeling bile rise in her throat. "What have you done?"

"Oh no, my dear," he replied sadly. "The real question is, what am I going to do with _you_?"

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Rumpelstiltskin felt the undeniable pull of a desperate soul calling for his aid. He found himself on a well-worn path in the woods in front of an ancient stone cabin. A young man sat just outside, knees drawn up and head laying in his arms. He reeked of despair and…was that the unmistakable whiff of death? Oh this should be fun!

"You called?" he purred, enjoying how the poor boy jumped in fright.

"You're…you're…_him_, right?" he gasped.

"Him? Him who?" Rumpelstiltskin loved to play with his food. It was so much fun to taunt nobility. "The Dark One? The Spinner? Yes, yes! It is I, Rumpelstiltskin!"

The boy nodded solemnly. He seemed to be losing his nerve with every second.

"What is it you require, boy?"

"I'm in trouble," he mumbled.

"Well of course you are! Why else would you call me, hmmmm? It can't be for my bubbly personality. Now, again I ask, what do you need?"

"My fiancé…she has…seen something not meant for her eyes. I need her to forget everything she has witnessed tonight or….or I'll be forced to kill her."

"My help does not come cheap. Perhaps it is best if you simply kill her and be done with it." He wasn't serious, of course.

If there was one thing he despised, it was violence against innocent women.

"I can't!" he cried. "She's a princess! There will be too many questions asked. I can't afford to have anyone find out about what I've been doing here. Just erase her memory, please! Make her believe she imagine it."

"And just what have you been up to, dearie?" Yes, that heady scent was definitely rotting flesh. The Duke-ling was up to something foul indeed.

"That's my business!" he snarled.

"And if you want my help then it is now _my_ business!" he countered. "Let me see your dear Princess. Then I'll decide if you are worry of my aid."

The boy paled visibly but got up to unlock the door with a blood stained key without further complaint. The smell was repugnant! He might never get the stench out of his dragonhide jacket.

Rumpelstiltskin needed no time to adjust his eyes. He did most of his business in the darkness and it suited him. Still, when he caught sight of the poor princess he thought his eyes must surely be deceiving him.

The brave child with the chestnut curls he had once saved from certain death sat bound and gagged next to the mutilated corpse of a peasant. Belle looked up at him, surprise, and something akin to relief, flooded her features.

With a wave of his hand he whisked away the gag so that she may talk freely, and if he was truly honest with himself, allowing her to breath from her mouth to spare her the toxic odors.

"I know you," she gasped without the slightest trace of fear. "You saved my life five years ago."

"It seems you have found yourself in another precarious position, dearie." He took in the butchered limbs and rotting flesh in disgust. Despite his fearsome reputation, he had never enjoyed the sight of blood and death. He had seen far too much of it on the battlefields. "Do you know what your betrothed wants me to do you?"

"I have no idea. If he simply wanted me dead he certainly has the means and the stomach to do it himself. He obviously wants me alive if he has contacted you."

Clever girl, he thought.

"He has asked me to erase your memory," he began, watching her reactions carefully. Her skin turned a sickly gray and her eyes fluttered closed. At first he thought she had surely fainted! Seconds later, however, she raised her head defiantly and her eyes shone with grim determination.

"Then I choose death," she whispered.

That caught his attention. "I beg your pardon?"

"I refuse to be married to a man who can butcher innocent women! I can assure you that if I found out about it once I will do so again."

"I'm sure you will, dearie." She was unlike any princess he had ever met, and he had dealt with hundreds of the whiny brats over the centuries. "Boy! Enter!"

John stepped into the hut, quaking in fear. "After speaking with the young lady I have made my decision. I will not erase her memory."

"No! Please, you must! I will do anything! Just fix this!"

"Anything?" he purred. That _is_ the magic word. "Hmmm…"

He walked around the room, pretending to study the body of the young peasant. Instead his mind was racing for alternatives.

"What if I could arrange it so that she kept her memories but was never able to reveal your…hobby… to anyone? Would that be acceptable?"

"Yes! Yes! Let's do it!"

Belle looked crestfallen. She hung her head dejectedly as Rumpelstiltskin produced a scroll out of thin air and handed a quill to her fiancé.

"Just sign on the dotted line, dearie, and all will be well." John signed eagerly without giving the document a second glance.

What an idiot, Rumpelstiltskin thought.

"Now then, Princess, this won't hurt a bit." He pressed a scaly finger to her forehead and closed his eyes. Warmth spread through the digit, sending magic to her brain, instructing it to never reveal the oaf's secrets. "Belle, what do you see in this room?"

"I see a cabin filled with artwork," she responded automatically, looking surprised at her own words.

"And what type of art does your betrothed create?"

"I have no idea. He is a private person and does not share his work with anybody."

Rumpelstiltskin giggled shrilly. "Does that satisfy you, young Duke-ling?"

"Yes, yes it does." The boy visibly relaxed.

"Excellent! Now, about my payment…"

"Of course. I have gold and jewels at the house."

"Ah ah ah!" he sang, waving his finger back and forth. "I have no use for either. My price is far more _precious_!"

John swallowed audibly. "What is it you want?"

"It's not what I want, child, it's what you've already agreed to! The contract clearly spelled it out. My price…is her freedom!"

"What?" cried Belle and John simultaneously.

"She is free to leave here unharmed, to return to her castle with her father. You can never imprison or hurt her again. Most importantly, however, she is free from the obligation to marry you!"

John's face contorted with rage. "You tricked me, imp!"

"Now, now. There's no cause for name calling. After all, you're the creepy fellow who wanted her dead!"

"I never _wanted_ her dead! The whole point of contacting you was to erase her memories so that she'd still marry me. Then I wouldn't _have_ to kill her!"

"Yeah," Rumpelstiltskin replied seriously. "That's why I said 'creepy'! Now then, Princess, let's get you back to your father before they come searching and find this _lovely_ cabin."

He placed his hand on the small of Belle's back and led her out the door. She smiled and did not flinch from his touch.

"Thank you, Rumpelstiltskin," said quietly. He had magically transported them to a beautiful marble balcony at the main house, leaving John and the cabin behind. "You didn't have to do that, you know. I feel like I should compensate you for your trouble."

"Just protecting my investment, dearie. I didn't save your life from one fiancé just to have another chop you into itty bitty pieces."

She surprised him by picking up his hand and squeezing it tightly. Her skin was incredibly soft and warm. "Again, thank you."

"Think nothing of it, love." Love? Where did that come from? He just wasn't use to being treated like a person and not a monster. He had to leave before he did something completely out of character, like kiss her hand or run his spinner fingers through the tendrils of her hair.

She began to turn to enter the house. "Wait! What do I tell my father?"

"Do not worry, child." Yes, child was better. "The King and Duke have suddenly decided that it is not a good match and are even now dissolving the union. You are free once again."

"I fear I shall never be truly free," she sighed.

He resisted the urge to touch her arm, to give her some sort of comfort. Instead he turned away and whispered, "None of us are, love."


	3. Chapter 3: Every Man for Himself

_Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, faved or is following my story! The response has been fantastic! So, without further ado, may I present idiot number three!_

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**Chapter 3: Every Man for Himself**

After the horror that was John of Bluebeard, Belle demanded a more prominent role in choosing her husband. No one knew the real reason why her last engagement had fallen through; no one except for herself, John and of course, Rumpelstiltskin.

She was happy to finally have a name to go with the mysterious face of her savior. Sometimes she thought she had imagined him healing her wounds and staying with her until help arrived all those years ago. She dreamt of him often after the first year, and now he plagued her dreams once again.

They were not scary dreams. He didn't seem very scary, at least not to her. He had shown her kindness not once but twice now, saving her life from both of her fiancés. In her dreams, she simply sat with him and talked about nothing of consequence. His presence was soothing enough to chase away the nightmares. Sometimes she dreamt of the things she had seen in that cabin; the dismembered limbs, the desecrated corpse of the poor scullery maid…and the smell!

She would never forget that smell if she lived a thousand years! It was weeks before she could no longer smell it on her hair. Even her father had noticed a foul stench while they traveled back to their castle. Fortunately, he believed it was the smell of the fish caught by the sailors during their voyage. She had burned the dress and told her servants that it had been lost.

Upon her arrival home, she informed her father that she required at least one year before she could consider another arranged marriage. He reluctantly agreed, but secretly called back the council to begin their search anew.

She took advantage of the next year by studying the mystery that was Rumpelstiltskin. She found references to him as far back as the Great Ogre War, which had taken place almost 600 years before. The books she read had so many contradicting tales that she didn't know what to believe. One book referred to him as a baby snatcher, stealing babes in the night to be cooked into stews. Another tale told of his generosity by ending a decade long feud in return for a few trinkets.

One thing all tales had in common was that his services always came with a price. Always.

This thought concerned her the most because she had not repaid his aid. The first time, she had not asked for his help. He had given it freely. The second time, the price was paid by John, but this confused her even more.

The price had been her freedom. Why?

She feared she would never get her answer. There was no reason for her to ever see him again.

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Once her year was over, her father decided to throw a grand ball to re-introduce her to society. She had been reluctant to attend royal gatherings over the last few years for fear of running into Prince James or his family. This time, she was in charge of the guest list and no one from his Kingdom was on it!

If anyone asked about the long absence, Maurice would simply say that his wife's passing had taken a great toll on their family and that Belle had been needed to take over the running of the castle. It was partially true. She had never realized just how difficult it was to run a household, especially one with as many servants as their own. She took great care in preparing the halls for the festivities, wanting to make her mother proud.

The night of the ball, as royals and nobles danced and drank merrily around her, she surprisingly found herself enjoying the company of one Prince Thomas, an eager fifteen year old boy who followed her around like a puppy. While she was eight years his senior, she found his earnestness and complete honesty refreshing.

Although he was not old enough to marry until eighteen, he asked her if she would be willing to wait for him. Thomas was set to inherit his Kingdom, just as James someday will his, so the council's original plan of joining kingdoms would work just as well with him. It would be a profitable venture on both sides.

It was a tempting offer, however she couldn't help but feel like an older sister. Maybe she liked him simply because she knew that he was too young and innocent to have a dark side. He was safe.

Still, she thought they had just as much of a chance to be happy together as anyone else did. She told him she would consider it.

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The next morning, while dozens of nobles slept off the previous night's festivities, Maurice surprised Belle by inviting her to breakfast.

"My dear, the ball was a complete success!" He winced at his own exuberance and took a long drink of mead to quell his hangover. He had overindulged once again. "I spent the night being praised heavily for having such a beautiful daughter. We have even received a few offers."

"Offers, Papa?" she asked, picking at her eggs and meat, too tired to eat.

"Yes, Belle, _offers_." He winked slyly. At her blank expression he added, "Of the _marriage_ variety! Tell me, what do you think of King Robert's lands?"

King Robert? That was Thomas's father! He must have asked his father to speak to hers.

"I've heard their Kingdom is very beautiful, Papa. I should very much like to see it." Or live there! That was fine with her. She didn't mind waiting three years for Tommy. For the first time since her original engagement party she was feeling excited about the possibility of marriage. Surely it must be far better being married to a friend than a stranger!

"That's nice to hear, dear, because Robert and I discussed it at great length and we both think it would be a great match!"

"I think so too, Papa!" she agreed eagerly. "Thomas and I have much in common."

"Good! You'll make him an excellent step-mother."

"Yes, I…what? Step-mother? You mean wife, do you not?"

"Wife? Thomas is too young to marry, child!" he laughed. "You are now twenty-three! You're almost an old maid! We can't have you waiting around for him to become a man. Robert has asked for your hand now. The political aspects are too important to be ignored."

Belle's stomach clenched painfully. He was her father's friend! While age did not matter to her, the thought of marrying her own friend's father was nauseating. Her mind raced to find a legitimate reason that would change her papa's mind.

"But what of heirs, Papa?" she asked. "My children would not inherit his Kingdom, nor this one should they be combined. Thomas is Heir Apparent. Unless something happened to him there is no guarantee that my children would rule after we are gone."

King Maurice frowned thoughtfully at his breakfast. Perhaps the alcohol had flowed too freely last night if he had forgotten that important fact.

"You are right, Belle, of course. What point is there of marriage if the children are not successors?"

What point indeed? Relieved that she was able to sway him, Belle relaxed and dug into her breakfast eagerly. She had had enough talk of marriage to last a lifetime!

After a few moments of strained silence he casually asked her, "My dear, what do you think of the Goblin King?"

"Papa!" she scolded. He simply snorted into his second glass of mead. He so loved to tease her.

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In the end, the council was unanimous that she could not wait three years for young Thomas. Her people had been anxiously awaiting her marriage for far too long and Maurice was eager to see his only daughter wed before she grew old.

She was only twenty-three for goodness sakes! She still had plenty of child rearing years left in her. Unfortunately, the men did not agree and her voice was ignored. After several months of deliberations, her chosen betrothed was thirty five year old Prince Humperdinck of Florin.

What kind of name is Humperdinck, anyway?

He arrived at her castle with great fanfare and a veritable army. This pleased her father greatly, knowing that he could easily call upon his son-in-law's people to defend them if necessary.

They signed the contracts without pomp or circumstance, choosing instead to keep this engagement relatively private. It was her third after all, and her people were weary of broken deals.

The wedding would take place in spring, giving them a few months to prepare and to get to know each other. Surprising both her father and fiancé, Belle insisted that she return with Humperdinck to his lands for a visit.

She convinced herself that it was to see him in his own space, where he is most comfortable, and therefore less guarded. How were they to get to know each other if he expected a trap at every turn?

It had nothing to do with the fact that she wanted to search every building and room in his castle for traces of dead scullery maids, or worse, dead wives! Nope, nothing at all.

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The roads were bumpy and the carriage ride uncomfortable. They had been travelling for two days now and it would be two more before they reached Humperdinck's lands. Her patience was running thin as her betrothed regaled her with yet another tale of his hunting prowess.

Really, what purpose could there be to track a falcon on a cloudy day?

She chose, instead, to spend her time carefully reading the extensive marriage contract her father and fiancé had signed. She was becoming quite the expert on contract law. She had insisted on reading every proposal as they had arrived at her castle (although her opinion was discounted at every turn).

This was the first time she was able to read a marriage contract and she was appalled at the intimate details that were negotiated! Apparently her father and council had no ill feelings about her husband taking a lover. It described in detail how he was allowed a long-term mistress after one year of marriage or the conception of a child, whichever came first. She supposed the term 'mistress' did not include any one-night conquests that he so desired.

James, she knew, enjoyed bedding the servants. John had simply enjoyed killing them.

Belle had just read a clause about her menstrual cycle, of all things, when the horses came to a shrieking halt. She was thrown forward, landing unceremoniously in Humperdinck's lap. His hands gripped her waist, his fingers wandering upwards. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to escape his embrace.

"Shhh!" he hissed, looking out the window.

"Are you expecting a trap, sir?" She couldn't bring herself to say his name. It was simply too ridiculous.

"I think everything could be a trap," he countered haughtily. "That's why I'm still alive."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He was so paranoid she was sure she would develop a complex from being around him too long. Still, the horses had stopped for _some_ reason. It was probably just a blockage on the road.

He removed her from his lap, withdrew a sword and opened the door. "Fear not, my lady. I will protect you."

This time she did roll her eyes, though only once his back was turned. She followed him out of the carriage, pulling her cloak over her head. Just as she had expected, there was a fallen tree on the road. Humperdinck's soldiers busied themselves with the log while she stretched her legs, pleased to be free of the cramped space.

As she stooped to pick up some wildflowers on the side of the path, an object fell, landing hard at her feet. It was the driver of their carriage with an arrow through his back.

"Ambush!" somebody cried.

Humperdinck appeared out of nowhere, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her out of harm's way. His firm grip would leave bruises on her skin, but at least she was alive. He was protecting her, as promised.

"We have to run!" he snarled, looking around for an escape route. "Into the safety of the trees, now!"

They raced to the forest edge with difficulty, dodging stray arrows and broken bodies. It wasn't until they were almost completely hidden by the tall oaks that a new group emerged from the bushes. They held bows at the ready and grinned menacingly. "Your jewels, my lord."

"Never!" Humperdinck shouted.

Belle could see them flex their arrows and knew that they intended to fire at her fiancé. She looked desperately around for a weapon, a branch, anything that could be used to fight them off and save her betrothed's life.

His arms went around her quickly, shielding her with his own body. She felt a brief stab of sorrow as she realized she had judged him too harshly. He was a good man.

That was before he picked her up and placed her in front of him, directly in the path of the attacker's arrows. Her last thought before being struck by the piercing shot was some very un-lady-like curses.

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Rumpelstiltskin was not one to get involved unless he was paid for his trouble. Living alone in the Dark Castle had numbed him from the hardships people faced every day. He did not fall ill, was never without food and lived in the comfort and protection that could only be afforded by Kings.

Still, when the roads surrounding his lands were being invaded by thieves and ruffians, he felt it was his duty to do something about them. After all, they could be killing customers on their way to see him!

He had been tracking them on and off for weeks now. They attacked from several parts of the forest, never in the same place twice. He would admire their gumption if they hadn't been pilfering on his lands.

If there was one thing Rumpelstiltskin despised, it was thievery.

Stealing was just lazy, in his opinion. He had never stolen anything in his considerably long life, preferring the thrill of wheeling and dealing. It was so much for fun to _win_!

He had seen an impressive army come through the nearest town hours before. It was clearly the advance guard of a very wealthy noble, who should be following along soon with a smaller contingency of soldiers. Anyone who could afford to travel with such company would be dripping in coins and jewels. It was just a matter of time before the thieves struck again.

Perching comfortably on a hefty branch, Rumpelstiltskin watched not the road but the spaces in between the trees. The raiders would be camouflaged in the bushes. He heard, rather than saw, the distinct chopping of an axe on hardwood. He was not surprised in the least when a massive tree fell across the dirt road, forcing any travelers to stop when they came upon it. Their ambush was ready.

He could take them now but he was unsure how many were hidden in the thick foliage. It was best to wait for them to reveal themselves. And who knew? Maybe their victims would be willing to compensate him for his trouble.

The clacking of hooves in the distance alerted him to new arrivals. Showtime!

He lazily watched as the soldiers dismounted from their steeds to appraise the fallen tree. A man drenched in purple velvet emerged from the white carriage, brandishing a sword. A woman concealed in a blue cloak followed, but soon busied herself with picking wildflowers.

His attention was now focused on the men slinking their way out of the trees, wielding swords, axes and bows. One fellow appeared to be wearing a makeshift cloak fabricated from leaves and twigs. No one noticed as he raised his bow and fired an arrow straight at the driver of the carriage. His body fell hard to the ground, next to the woman, who seemed too frightened to cry out.

The other barbarians were prepared to attack but no one noticed. Seeing no reason for the woman to die because of the ineptitude of the soldiers, Rumpelstiltskin cupped his mouth and bellowed, "Ambush!"

Now this was entertainment! He watched gleefully as the warriors rallied together to fight off the hoard of attackers. There was no honor among cowards; it was every man for himself. The thieves were systematically picked off piece by piece.

Apparently he was not needed here after all.

As he made to leave, he saw the man in purple drag the woman to the edge of the woods. Their eyes did not see what his did; more men waited in the bushes, weapons already drawn. He heard them demand jewels and the man's defiant refusal.

What an idiot!

Very little shocked Rumpelstiltskin anymore; he had been alive far too long to be taken by surprise. Still, humans are inherently selfish beings. He watched in amazement as the man in purple wrapped his arms around his mistress, picked her up and used her as a shield!

The sudden movement caused her cloak to fall back and for the first time he caught a glimpse of chestnut curls and blue eyes.

No! It couldn't be!

Rage filled him as he watched not one, but two arrows pierce her beautiful skin. Without a second's thought, he vanished her to the safety of the carriage, leaving the coward exposed. He allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction as three more arrows punctured the man's chest, dropping him to the ground.

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Belle lay across the carriage's seat, her eyes closed, while Rumpelstiltskin knelt before to her assess her injuries. She smelled of roses and iron. The first arrow had hit her shoulder and was lodged in the bone. The other one was more cause for concern, having hit her in the abdomen.

If he did not remove them quickly she would bleed to death. Her blue dress was already slick from blood and her skin was paling rapidly. He grunted as he pulled the first arrow out, thankful that she was unconscious. He placed a scaled hand over the gaping wound and willed it to close with a thought.

He repaired the second injury just as quickly. Thankfully, it had missed her vital organs. He remembered how he had already healed her liver once. He hated to do things twice.

Her eyes fluttered open, her body now healed, and she gasped in surprise. She looked down at yet another ruined dress and searched for her traveling companion. When she saw only him she frowned.

"That bastard used me as a human shield!" she cried.

He smiled thinly, pleased at her response. "That he did, Princess."

She stuck a finger through the whole in the fabric of her sleeve and felt only smooth skin. "Did you…did you save me again?"

He grimaced and felt his anger bubble to the surface. "I will ask the questions here, dearie! Would you please explain to me how someone so young and innocent has so many people trying to kill her all the time?"

She seemed confused, and a little hurt, by his tone. He watched her nibble on her bottom lip and her eyes dropped to her lap. He hated being harsh with her but he couldn't stop his frustration from showing. Did she not know how difficult it is to see her broken and bloodied so often?

"I must be cursed," she whispered, twisting the fabric of her dress.

Cursed? This poor woman thought something must be wrong with _her_?

He softened his voice and sighed. "Trust me, dearie. I know curses and you do not have one. Was this bastard perhaps _idiot number three_?"

"Yes," she replied, rubbing her hand over her face. "It seems my Papa has poor taste in men."

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled heartily at her words. She smiled shyly then joined in as well. Their laughter dissolved any lingering tension and they sat comfortably as the battle continued to rage outside the carriage. She was safe as long as he was with her. He would never allow her to come to harm.

Her features became serious after a moment and she asked him quietly, "What is your price?"

He cocked his head to one side. "For what, dearie?"

"For my life. I've read everything about you. Your aid _always_ comes with a price."

He kept his expression neutral as he thought of a response. She was right, of course. He always demanded payment. Still, this was the third time he had come to her aid with no thought of benefitting. By all rights he should receive something very precious from her.

He was about to demand her first born child (as a quip only of course, as befitting his reputation), but as he looked into her kind, blue eyes he realized that he truly didn't want anything from her. He just wanted her to stay alive! He was getting soft in his old age.

"My lands have been plagued by these ruffians for weeks now," he replied, waving his hands vaguely out the window. "Your soldiers are dispensing them for me as we speak. That is payment enough."

She smiled brightly at him. Very few women ever smiled at him. They usually cried in his presence. She was different.

She was trouble!

"I will leave you in their capable hands, Princess. I have more profitable deals to make." He was about to leave with the snap of his fingers when she reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Wait!" Her cheeks flushed shyly and he couldn't help but think she looked all the more beautiful for it. "How can I contact you?"

"And why would you want to do that, dearie?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well," she bit her lower lip again and smiled. "What if I need help to escape _idiot number four_?"

"I pray that it be not the case, Princess," he said, frowning. "If I must save your royal bottom a fourth time, the price will be high indeed. I may even be tempted to whisk you away to my own castle, where I'll know you will be safe. Saving you over and over again is becoming quite bothersome."

Her eyes rounded in surprise but her lips continued to smile merrily. She truly had a beautiful smile. Sighing, he reached into a pocket and withdrew a small black candle.

"If you require my aid, simply write a letter with my name on the front and set it ablaze from the candle's flame. I will receive it." There were other methods but this one seemed the safest. At least this way he could choose to ignore it if needed. He didn't think he could resist the pull if _she_ called out his name three times.

Yes, this woman was trouble all right. Part of him hoped that she would indeed call upon him for help someday.

The other part of him prayed that he would never again see the princess with the beautiful chestnut curls and bright blue eyes.


	4. Chapter 4: Monsters

_Okay. When you finish this chapter, I'm betting that a lot of you will be scratching your heads and counting with your fingers. Fear not! I have a plan! _

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**Chapter 4: Monsters  
**

A month after the tragedy that was Prince Humperdinck, ogres breached the borders of Belle's Kingdom. While the battles raged far from her castle, she couldn't help but feel overwhelming panic at the thought of war.

Because of her, they had but a small army to fight against the new threat. Her people would have been safer had she married _any_ of the men the council had chosen for her. They had soldiers and weapons. Her people had hopes and dreams.

Would marriage to James have truly been that terrible? Their fathers would have ensured that he never again assaulted her. She could have demanded separate rooms and tolerated his presence for the purpose of conceiving children. Once heirs were born she could have lived happily with little contact from him.

With its large ports, John's town would have been ideal for sending troops and supplies to war torn battlefields. She should have allowed Rumpelstiltskin to erase her memory. It was entirely possible that she would've never again found out about his 'artwork.'

With an army such as Prince Humperdinck's…well, she couldn't exactly blame herself for that fiasco. It wasn't as though she had chosen not to marry him, he had died; but not before using her as a human shield! If it hadn't been for Rumpelstiltskin…

There she went again, thinking about him.

He continued to visit her dreams almost every night; always the same one. She was back in the forest, surrounded by thieves. Humperdinck's arms were around her, roughly holding her in place as arrows shot through her skin. Then, _he_ appeared. Only this time he shielded her with his own body, arms wrapped around her protectively. She felt safe, whole.

She shook herself out of her reverie. Now was not the time for daydreams! Her father needed her; her people needed her. She had to help lead them through this ordeal.

Surely hostilities wouldn't last that long.

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After almost two years of constant battle, her people were slowly but surely losing the war. There had been some progress a few months back but a harsh winter had stalled the supply lines and the ogres had pushed forward, destroying everything and everyone in their path.

If another arranged marriage would save her people then she would do it; even if it killed her.

Hopefully this time would be different. Gaston was the obvious choice, of course. His father was an Earl in a neighboring realm and had hundreds of fresh soldiers on standby, awaiting their response. What were the lives of a few hundred men when it meant your son got to be a king?

The fact is, there were few men to choose from. She was no longer considered the young, vibrant princess of a wealthy nation, but a weary twenty-five year old from a war-torn land on the brink of extinction.

Not to mention she had developed a reputation for going through fiancés! She was considered a liability to her people; the poor princess who couldn't find a husband and produce heirs. She was running out of options and her land was running out of resources.

The signing of the betrothal contract was a somber affair. The castle was eerily quiet with only a skeleton crew of servants remaining. It had broken her father's heart to have to force conscription on his people; anyone who could fight was required to fight.

With this new deal, many of her people could return to their villages and be with their families. Gaston's soldiers would take over most of the fighting. That is, if they could get here in time.

"I will send word to my father immediately, your Highness," said Gaston, bowing deeply. "Our men should arrive within the week."

"Thank you, son," her father wheezed. His health had dwindled over the past year, a combination of too much stress, too little rest, and far too much drink. Even now he drank deeply from a goblet, the crimson liquid staining his cloak where it seeped. "I'm sure they will be our salvation."

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When Belle wasn't needed in the village to tend to the wounded or dispense the rations, she could be found in the library. Or really, what was left of it.

Supplies had run seriously low the last winter and they had been forced to burn books for warmth. What use were books when no one was left alive to read them? It had broken her heart to watch them burn.

Her stomach grumbled as she read one the few remaining tales of fiction, sipping cold tea and nibbling on stale bread. In order to escape the dreadful turn in her life, she immersed herself in the imaginary lives of princes, princesses and true love.

She honestly believed that true love existed somewhere out there. Unfortunately, it was a luxury she could not afford. She had to marry out of duty and obligation and knew, deep down, that she would never grow to love her husband. To him, she would never be anything but the spoils of war.

"There you are, Belle," said Gaston, looking around in indifference at the bare shelves. "You need to get your head out of those books and focus on more important things. I thought we would take a walk through the village this evening. Show the people that there is new hope now that we are engaged."

Belle carefully marked her spot in the book with an old ribbon and sighed. She knew he had a point; her people desperately needed good news. Still, she couldn't help but feel overwhelming anger at the whole situation. The Earl had only offered their help for a price, and that price had been her sovereignty. Yet how could they refuse?

Gaston looked down at her now with a critical eye and a sneer. Her brown dress was simple but clean, her hair down, adorned simply with ribbons to keep the curly tresses out of her eyes. She had forgone with silks long ago, instead requiring outfits that were meant for labor. While she still had the title of Princess, she worked among her people, cooking and cleaning beside them, eating what they ate. She refused to be treated any differently.

"Today is a joyous occasion," he said without feeling. "You must at least _pretend_ to still be the Princess you once were. Go fetch some decent clothes and meet me at the gates in twenty minutes."

He stalked out of the library, slamming the heavy doors behind him. Belle stood, transfixed. At least her other fiancés had been respectful to her in day to day situations! She did not like the thought of a husband who ordered her around like a servant. She had always believed she and her spouse would be equals.

She wondered briefly if her people would ever allow her to rule the Kingdom on her own, without a man by her side. The idea was quickly dismissed as foolishness. Women in this land were never given the opportunity to show their true worth. The only thing she was required to do was produce a male heir or die trying.

If only there was another way to help her people, she thought sadly.

Knowing it did not do well to complain, she ascended the stairs in search of a suitable dress. There were a few put away in her hope chest for just this sort of occasion, but they would be musty and wrinkled. Still, it was the best she had.

Her hope chest was really more of a small room than a chest. Three engagements, now four, had bestowed upon her more gifts and fabrics than she could ever hope to use. Her father had insisted that the wedding things not be touched, even when supplies were sorely needed. He had wanted to spare his daughter the loss of something so personal.

The sight of the items in the room flooded her with memories; white lace and crisp linens she and her mother had made over the long winters, the silk nightgown Queen Penelope had sent for her wedding night, pearl earrings from John, and perfumes from Humperdinck. She had not seen any of these in years.

Tucked away in the corner was a small wooden wardrobe packed tightly with dresses and cloaks. Some were meant for everyday use, others for important dinners, and one for a ball. The silky gold ball gown had originally been meant for her mother but Belle could never bring herself to wear it. It was too painful.

She chose instead a simple but beautiful blue dress with plenty of white lace. It hung a little loosely on her small frame, having lost some weight over the past few months. Still, she thought the overall effect was very becoming.

Try as she might, the golden gown would not quite fit back inside the wardrobe. Instead, she hung it over the end of a chaise. It would do it some good to be aired out anyway. Noticing that her own dress smelled a little off, she decided to make use of Humperdinck's present and generously spritzed herself with the perfume.

The little black candle caught her eye as she replaced the bottle on the shelf. Her servants had tucked it away with the other mementoes of her brief engagement to the cowardly prince. She had not seen it in two years.

She had not thought of _him_ in months.

The man with the golden skin and wavy brown hair was still a mystery to her. He was the most feared man in all the realms yet had saved her life three times. Perhaps he could save her people as well?

She tossed the thought out of her mind. Gaston was their savior, not Rumpelstiltskin. His men would arrive in a week and end the war. Besides, Rumpelstiltskin had said his price would be high if she ever called on him.

Still, wasn't she already paying the ultimate price?

Not wanting to keep Gaston waiting, she wrapped the candle in a handkerchief and dropped it into her pocket. She would only use it if absolutely necessary.

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The villagers were heartened to see the princess and their savior walk arm in arm down the dirt roads. Gaston seemed to relish the attention, stopping often to magnanimously assure them that their lives would all be saved, thanks to him and his grand army. He shook every man's hand and kissed every woman's knuckles. He brandished his sword for the amusement of the children and regaled anyone who would listen, the tale of how he had once killed an ogre with his bare hands.

Belle didn't buy any of it, however. She could see that his eyes were cold and calculating when he smiled, not conveying the warmth of his words. He held her waist possessively when he spoke with the men, holding her close like the war prize that she was. She was ignored completely when he was surrounded by young women, giving them his full attention instead.

While he was provocatively flexing his biceps for the three Clairmont sisters, Belle wandered off to the make-shift infirmary to visit the wounded and to see what provisions would be needed throughout the night. Refugees and injured soldiers continued to pour into the village, seeking shelter from the continued encroachment of the monsters. She spoke to a few residents, offering them heartfelt words of encouragement.

A middle aged man leaning heavily against a stick for support caught her eye. His right knee was hobbled and the bandage around his head desperately needed to be changed. Her throat constricted painfully at the sight of him. He was far too thin and frail looking to fight.

"May I change your dressing, sir?" she asked him quietly with a smile.

His cheeks flushed scarlet and he lowered his warm brown eyes, refusing to meet her gaze. "I could not ask that of you, my lady," he said with a thick accent. "What if you stained your pretty dress?"

"Nonsense," she replied. "It's just a dress. There are far more important things in life than appearances."

Seeming pleased at her response, he acquiesced. She lowered him to a bench and carefully unwrapped the stained cloth. Blood and dirt matted shoulder length hair to his scalp. He seemed uncomfortable at first, cringing as if he wasn't use to the feeling of another's touch. She hummed a familiar tune from her childhood to quiet his nerves as she washed and redressed the wound.

He was reluctant to discuss his experiences in the war or the family he left behind. Instead, he peppered her with questions about her life; he asked her about her hobbies, which books she has read; he wanted to know about her life at the castle and even asked about her father's health.

"And who is that valiant man over there, charming all the ladies?" he asked, not quite hiding the disdain in his voice.

Belle wasn't quick enough to hide her own scowl either. "He's our savior," she replied dully. "His men will end this war. Then our people will be free."

"And you, my lady?" he asked quietly. "Will you be free as well?"

A bitter laugh escaped her lips before she could quell it. "I will be free to bear his seven children. I will be free to watch him take on mistresses while I spend my nights confined to my quarters. I will be free to watch my husband and his advisors take command of my Kingdom as I am pushed aside as decoration. I am free to be a prisoner of my own life."

When he glanced up questioningly she added with a smirk, "I insisted on reading the marriage contract. I fully understand my duty...and the cost of our salvation."

He now looked at her with an odd mixture of sympathy and respect. "I wish I could save you from your fate, my lady. He seems like an idiot."

She giggled despite her dark mood and dropped her head in embarrassment. "There you are, good sir. Your dressing is complete."

He rose with some difficulty, hoisting himself up on his stick, and she reflexively reached out an arm to steady him. He hesitated only briefly before taking her hand in his own, then brought it to his lips. The kiss he placed on her knuckles was soft and tender.

"Thank you, my lady," he whispered, gazing deeply into her eyes. "You are as skilled as you are beautiful."

She felt a gentle flush creep up her neck to her cheeks. She returned his shy smile and realized that it was the first compliment she had received in months. It pleased her to no end.

"What are you doing?" demanded Gaston, suddenly at her side and looking decidedly cross.

"I was speaking to this brave man," she sighed, barely able to contain her impatience. "He has recently returned from the front lines."

"A braver man," said Gaston with a sneer, "would not have returned at all."

The poor man blanched at the insult and Belle felt her hands begin to shake. Before the soldier could respond, Gaston gripped her upper arm tightly and steered her back to the castle. When she turned her head to look back at her new friend, he was gone.

"How dare you?" she hissed, trying to break free of his grip. "You have no right to…"

"I have every right, _my_ lady," he countered, putting emphasis on the 'my.' "You are to be _my_ wife and yet you flirt shamelessly with another in public! I will not be insulted."

He did not utter another word until they were safely back inside the castle walls. He smiled coldly as they passed the guards, hiding the fact that he was now practically dragging her.

"I was merely helping him, Gaston. I enjoy feeling useful and needed!"

"Now that you are _mine_ you shall no longer lower yourself serving others. Your duties are to see to the running of the castle only. You will delegate everything to the servants. You are required to be dressed handsomely at all times. You will not speak to other men unless spoken to first. Do you understand?"

Belle was livid. "Am I to use the chamber pot only with your express permission, _sir_? Are you to decide what food I may eat and when I may sleep?"

"Princess Belle! Sir Gaston!" cried a page, racing towards them, his heavy chainmail weighing him down. Underneath a thin sheen of sweat, his face was haggard and gray. "We have word from the front lines. The ogres advance! They will reach Avonlea by dawn."

"Oh no!" whispered Belle, thankful that her suddenly shaking knees were hidden underneath several layers of fabric. "We are too late."

"All is lost," Gaston murmured, pulling her possessively to his chest. "We must flee, Belle. You and I will leave immediately for my father's lands."

"No!" she cried, jerking out of his grasp. She refused to give up hope. She would not run away while her people were slaughtered. "All is _not_ lost! There is another way. Come. We must speak with Papa immediately!"

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Her father listened patiently to her plan of contacting Rumpelstiltskin, interrupting her only to ask how she knew of the famed imp. She had never lied to her father before; it was against her nature to speak falsehoods. Still, she knew it would only lead to more questions, questions she was not prepared to answer, if she told him the truth.

She had never told another soul about how she had survived the fall at Prince James's castle.

Her father believed to this day that it had been his idea to end the union between her and John.

Everyone believed that Humperdinck had died protecting her while she had remained safe in the carriage.

Her acquaintanceship with Rumpelstiltskin was a secret, something special, meant just for her.

"I read all about him in a book once, Papa," she replied easily. It wasn't a complete lie, after all.

Gaston snorted from the corner. "Women! They should never be allowed to read! It only leads to trouble. I say we evacuate the castle while we have the chance. The beast cannot be trusted!"

The war council debated the new option throughout the night. Gaston and the cleric were the only ones who truly objected, but their voices were loudest and hardest to ignore. Bishop Malthus believed summoning a force as dark as Rumpelstiltskin would bring nothing but misfortune and damnation to their lands.

In the end, it was King Maurice who ceased the discussion just before day break. The ogres had arrived in Avonlea in hordes. There was no other alternative; they needed to call on Rumpelstiltskin.

Belle drafted the letter herself, including her father's offer of twenty gold bars as payment, knowing fully well he had no need of gold or riches. Had he not said so to John? She knew what his price would be.

His price would be _her_.

What she didn't know, however, was what he would _do_ with her. He had been kind to her, protected her. She had to trust that he would never hurt her.

She would be willing to do anything to save her father and her people, no matter what the sacrifice. She would go with him, if given the choice.

Feeling braver than she'd ever felt before, she rushed to her chambers to change. Rumpelstiltskin would be expecting to see a princess, and by gods, she was going to give him one.

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Rumpelstiltskin appeared in his turret, back in the nightmarish form of the Dark One, and proceeded to flip over his worktable. It landed with a resounding crash, splintering into dozens of pieces and shattering the magical instruments that were unfortunate enough to be placed upon it.

His rage still not sated, he picked up a wooden chair and threw it against the cold, stone wall, followed shortly after by vials and decanters of various potion ingredients. He tipped over the heavy bookshelves and, for good measure, threw the books out the tower window one by one.

Going to the village had been a mistake.

He had checked up on her several times before in recent months, using the glamour that transformed him into his former self. It was sufficient enough to hide him in plain sight; poor, injured refugees were becoming more common as the ogres grew closer. The pain in his leg was a small price to pay for the chance to see her up close.

He should never have gone in the first place, but he was too tempted to see how she was faring. Word had quickly spread throughout the Enchanted Forest that their war was not going well. Ogres were not men and fought with a viciousness that rivaled those with the blackest souls.

They had destroyed his own people, crippled him for all his adult human life, and forced him to pursue unholy methods to save his son from having to battle them.

If there was one thing he despised, it was ogres.

His dreams were plagued with her delicate body being snapped like a twig under the power of their mighty fists. The thought of her dying at their hands had left him feeling as cold and empty as when Bae had disappeared through the vortex. Try as he might, he couldn't resist seeing her, if only to prove to himself that she was still breathing.

She was usually too absorbed in her work to notice the stranger watching her anyway. It had angered him at first to see her toiling like a commoner, serving food to those that should have been worshipping at her feet. It wasn't until his second visit that he realized she was working of her own volition.

Along with a ration of hot stew, every villager was treated to a warm smile and a kind word. Status mattered not when food was scarce; she ensured everyone received an equal share. Her smiles were genuine and her words sincere. He found himself changing his appearance more than once, just so he could get another smile from her, and passed the food along to some shoeless children.

This time, however, he had gone too far. He had broken his own rules by interacting with her. She had spoken to him, touched him…confided in him.

She was absolutely miserable!

The brainless oaf she was being manipulated into marrying was a brute. He had heard the rumors. Gaston's father was sending them troops only on the promise of marriage. She was nothing but a spoil of war.

The man was rude, conceited and an absolute idiot!

It had been centuries since anyone had dared call Rumpelstiltskin a coward! If he hadn't forced himself to vanish away at that moment, he would have turned the shaved monkey into a bubbling puddle of goo. But if anything were to happen to the oaf, Belle would not receive the troops she so desperately needed. And without the troops…

He put the thought out of his mind. He was not going to get involved this time.

Everyone had a choice and she had made hers, knowing fully well what it would cost. She needed to go through with this blasted marriage because it would save her people and her kingdom. He needed to respect that. If she truly wanted his help, she knew how to contact him.

Still, he didn't have to like the situation. Picturing idiot number four in his head, he went in search of something else to smash.

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Rumpelstiltskin was sitting at his spinning wheel, which had fortunately been spared from the night's tantrum, when the message arrived the next morning. He stared forlornly at the letter, reading it over and over until every word was committed to memory. He spent an hour just admiring the beautiful, spindly writing that danced across the parchment. Even without the signature on the bottom, he knew it could only have come from her hand.

She had finally called upon him for help. He just didn't know what to do about it.

Some small part of him wanted to ignore their plea. She seemed to be his weakness, and he could not afford to have any weaknesses.

He had dreamt of her almost every night for the last two years. Even now, he couldn't close his eyes without seeing her face, hearing her lilting voice and feeling the warm touch of her hand on his own.

Oh yes, she was trouble all right.

She was like a drug; he needed her! Over the last eight years she had constantly reminded him what it was like to feel human again. If he allowed her to die at the ogres' hands then he would truly turn to dust.

He would go to the castle. He would offer them aid…for a price.

But what should he demand as payment? It had to be something special, something worthy of his help. _She_ quickly appeared at the forefront of his mind.

No. He could not bring her here. He couldn't do that to her.

Although…she would make an excellent companion. There was no denying he was lonely. He yearned for someone to talk to and with whom he could share comfortable silences. He respected her sharp mind and quick wit, admired her bravery and unselfish nature. She was without a doubt the cleverest woman he had ever met. She wasn't just beautiful; she was perfect in every way.

He could save her from a terrible arranged marriage; he could save her from all of life's dangers…except from himself, of course. What kind of life would that be, trapped in the Dark Castle with a monster?

No. He would not bring her here. He would ask for something else.

They had an extensive library with several important magical tomes he had been coveting for decades. He would demand them! Yes. That would be more than sufficient.

But then, what would become of her? He could not bear the thought of her marrying the fool, which she would be forced to do even though his soldiers had not fulfilled their end of the deal. Her spirit would be crushed and she would become nothing more than an empty shell, a shadow of her former self.

He truly had no choice. For the sake of both of their souls, he had to take her.

With a snap of his fingers, he was sitting in the King's throne, the sounds of battle seeping through the shattered windows.

He so loved a grand entrance!


	5. Chapter 5: Retribution

_Sorry about the delay but this chapter ended up being almost four times longer than the first one! Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews and support. Your suggestions helped shaped this final chapter. I should warn you, however, it's much darker than the others, and gets a little bit violent near the end. You have been warned! Love you all!_

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**Chapter 5: Retribution **

Moe French, formerly King Maurice, sat dejectedly at the pub's counter and nursed a beer. It was his fourth or fifth of the night, he couldn't quite remember which. With the curse broken just days ago, memories, real memories, had come flooding back in torrents. All around him, people everywhere were slowly picking up the pieces, reuniting with lost loved ones and rallying together to fight the evil Queen who did this to them.

Maurice cared not for their battles. As a King he should have been right in the thick of things, commanding his knights to aid Snow White in fighting. But he couldn't muster up the will to do much of anything.

Snow White had lovingly been reunited with her daughter, their Savior. His own daughter, who he had long believed dead, was alive and well, in the company of none other than Rumpelstiltskin. The last time he had seen her, she had been manipulated into giving up her freedom. It seems she has been fooled again. His poor little girl, who looked so much like the beloved wife he lost twelve (no, forty, he corrected himself) years ago, was now lost to him forever as well.

Yesterday he had given her the choice, him or _Him_. She had chosen the enemy. How could he ever look upon her again, knowing she has been bewitched into the beasts' bed, foolishly believing she was in love? That wasn't love. It was dark magic, as black as they come. He had to find a way to free her mind, to rescue her soul, before it was too late. He sought the answers in the bottom of his glass, hoping its lulling effects would grant him inspiration.

"Maurice?" asked a tentative voice behind him. "Sir Maurice? Is that you?"

It took more effort than should have been necessary for Moe to swivel his bar stool around and peer up at the new arrival. Perhaps this was his sixth drink. He had lost count an hour ago.

The man who approached him could not have been more than thirty years old. His dark hair was perfectly coifed, not a strand out of place, and his eyes were large pools of black ink. The silk suit he wore probably cost more than Moe spent on a month's rent, rent he paid to the blasted monster that had bedeviled his little angel! The thought of the imp made his head spin and his eyes unfocused. Or maybe it was due to his seventh drink?

"Whoa, there! Maurice, calm down, friend. That's an order. Don't you recognize me?"

Order? Who dares order a King? He desperately tried to steady his drunken gaze and focus on the face in front of him, but there were currently three now, all speaking at the same time.

"It's me. Prince Harold. Remember?" The soothing voice did sound familiar, but there was no way in Seven Hells this man could be his old friend Harry. Harry was dead, has been dead for 29 years. No wait…twenty nine plus twenty eight…oh who the Hell cares! He's gone and he's never coming back.

Moe reached out and squeezed the man's arm. It was solid beneath his grip, so he clearly wasn't a ghost or a hallucination brought about by drink. This man was obviously an imposter. "Prove it," he slurred.

The imposter sighed and sank into the next stool. "You were my bodyguard, my most trusted knight. The last time you saw me, we were having a drink at a tavern in Avonlea, celebrating my betrothal to Princess Elena, remember?"

_Elena_? The room seemed to stop spinning at the sound of his late wife's name, sobering him up better than a dunk in a cold river. "My liege!" he garbled, willing the memories to surface through his inebriated mind. "You disappeared, never came back. We looked for you for months! Everyone believed you were dead."

"I was as good as," he murmured darkly. "I was cursed, unable to show myself. But I was still there. I saw how you all searched for me, worried about me. I saw…everything." He remained silent for a moment, sipping his own drink, whiskey by the smell of it, and gazed intently at Moe. "I saw you marry Elena."

Maurice swallowed audibly, looking at his Prince, his commander. "You were gone," he whispered.

Harold sneered. "Yes, I suppose I was. No matter. She was clearly distraught and you were there when she needed you. Thank you for taking such good care of her. I hear you made a fine King."

That was a bit of an exaggeration. Maurice had been a soldier, a knight. He was no governor. Elena had been the true power, the rightful ruler, although as the man he received all the credit. After her passing, the kingdom had slowly unravelled until there was nothing left. He had lost everything, but most especially his beautiful Belle.

As if Harold had access to his thoughts he added, "I heard about the…unfortunate situation with your daughter. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"She's not dead!" he declared, feeling some measure of emotion for the first time in days.

"She's as good as," he replied with a scowl. "She's with _Rumpelstiltskin_. What fate could be worse? Surely there must be something we can do. She must be saved."

"There's nothing that can be done, not as long as she's with _him_. He has no weaknesses."

"Oh, I wouldn't go as far as say that," Harold replied, smiling broadly. Even though Moe was clearly drunk, he could tell that the smile did not reach his friends eyes. He looked almost manic. "Barkeep! Another beer for my friend here. I have a proposition for you, Maurice."

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For the first time in Belle's life, she truly felt free!

She was free of the padded cell that had been her home for more than 28 years. She was free of the Queen's dungeon from which she was ensconced for a year and a half before that. She was free from the duties and obligations that came from being a Princess. She was free to make her own choices and live as she sees fit.

But most importantly, she was finally free to be with Rumpelstiltskin!

He held her tightly in his arms that first night, as if he expected her to disappear and never return. She had never felt such peace and contentment as she laid beside him, wrapped protectively in his warm embrace, him in his silk pajamas, her in a pair of his undershirts and boxers. For the first time in years she was not plagued with nightmares; his presence alone was enough to keep the bad dreams at bay.

Their reunion was perhaps not the passionate affair of their fantasies, but it was tender and affectionate none the less. They did not go further than indulge in kisses; Rumpelstiltskin was too much of a gentleman, and she was weak and abused from her imprisonment. They could wait.

There would be time for that. There would be time for everything.

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In this strange, new land she was just like any other citizen; awakened to find herself dueling with two sets of memories, two personalities, and two separate identities. She was desperately trying to reconcile with being both Belle, a princess who continuously sacrificed herself for the ones she loved, and Isabelle French, an escaped mental ward patient who was abandoned and forgotten by all.

"How do you do it?" asked Belle quietly, taking a seat in the back of the town hall meeting. Half of the town had shown up to hear the Charmings's speak and she wanted to avoid the inevitable stares. It had only been three days since the curse had been broken and Belle had quickly found herself to be a novelty. Everyone wanted to have a look at the beauty that chose the beast.

"Do what, love?" replied Rumpelstiltskin. Always _love_ for her now; his signature _dear_ was too common for her.

"How do you look at everyone here and see the people, not just the deals they've made with you?"

"I see both, I suppose. I also see what they've become because of those deals and the potential they now have for future ones. Why do you ask?"

"It's embarrassing," she said, turning a disconcerting shade of red. "But with the exception of a few, most of the men in this room have tried to bargain for my hand in marriage. All I can see when I look around is what they demanded and what I, or the council, was unwilling to give up."

He thread her delicate fingers through his own and discreetly brought them to his lips for a quick kiss. "I know it's hard to believe but people do change. Most of them aren't the same people they were before this curse. Take King Midas, for example. He made a foolish deal with me once to have the Golden Touch. He thought unlimited gold would bring him happiness but all it did was rip apart his family and cut him off from the world. He understands that now and I'd like to think he's better for it."

"When I look at Midas, all I see is that he demanded his mistresses' quarters be directly next to mine, so he wouldn't have far to walk between rooms."

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled and gently squeezed her hand. "Idiot. It's his loss, then. Who else?"

She discreetly pointed across the room. "The man with the short brown hair? He was a Duke with over a dozen daughters but no sons. He wanted me to birth a child a year until he got his male heir. The council feared I would die having so many children so they rejected him."

"Just as well. He angered me some years ago so I made sure he could sire nothing but girls."

Belle giggled despite herself. "I'm starting to understand why half the town thinks I _really_ am crazy and the other half thinks you've cast an enchantment on me."

"Don't worry, love. No more than twenty percent think you're crazy."

They indulged in another round of soft giggles, then quieted when Snow White took to the podium. The former Princess, now school teacher, was trying to reassure the people of Storybrooke that they were doing everything they could to find the evil Queen and bring her to justice. They didn't dare disclose too many details though; Regina had eyes and ears everywhere.

Emma stood next to her mother, looking decidedly uncomfortable with all the attention and admiration being lavished upon her by the crowd. Belle could see a lot of James (no, she corrected herself, David) in her features. It had been a shock to hear of James's death, but even more so of Rum's outlandish plan of having him replaced by a secret twin brother. Had James been substituted years earlier, she was sure King George and her Papa would have forced them to marry.

Poor David! She was mortified at her behavior when he and Snow had come pounding at Rum's door, shouting, the morning after the curse broke. Assuming he was James, she had finally given in to her fantasy of pummeling him in the face as hard as her tiny fists could. It had felt so liberating!

David had been either too shocked or too much of a gentleman to stop her. Rum had apologized profusely to the royal couple, while desperately trying not to laugh, as he magically healed the broken nose and busted lip.

A gentle flush crept up her face as she recalled the embarrassing incident, and warmed even more at the memory of the passionate kiss Rumpelstiltskin had given her after the couple had gone.

She looped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder. Let people stare and talk. She was proud to be here with him, her True Love.

As the meeting concluded, the pair reluctantly made their way to the front of the hall. Emma's new war council, of which they were now a part, wanted to have a word with all the former rulers of the Enchanted Forest to convince them that it was in their best interests to help. While most were furious with the Queen, few were willing to stand up against her.

Belle would have preferred going back to Rum's house; crowds made her decidedly nervous. A small gathering remained, some now seated around a rectangular table, others in front of a portable chalk board, crudely drawing the blueprints of a building.

"Excuse me, Belle?" She turned around to see a be-speckled red-headed man in a sweater vest. He smiled warmly at her and offered his hand. "My name is Jiminy Cricket…or Archie." He cleared his throat loudly and looked sheepish. "Um…Let's try this again. I'm Doctor Archie Hopper, the town Psychiatrist. Could I have a moment?"

At the mention of his profession, Belle instinctively backed away, gripping Rum's arm tightly. Her breath caught in her throat as she desperately looked around for a quick exit.

Sensing her panic, Rumpelstiltskin gently put his arm around her waist and tilted her face to meet her gaze. "It's all right, love," he whispered. "Dr. Hopper is a friend. I've known him for more than a century and I can guarantee he's not here to take you away. You can trust him." His voice rose slightly as he looked back at the younger man. "Isn't that right, doctor?"

Dr. Hopper turned several shades of pink before ending on fuchsia. "Of course," he stammered. "I'm sorry if I upset you. I just wanted to let you know that I had no idea there was a secret ward in the hospital! If I had, I would have done everything in my power to get you out of there."

Belle visibly relaxed enough to let go of Rum's arm, leaving his expensive suit wrinkled and ruffled. He rubbed her back soothingly then discreetly left her side, giving her some privacy with the doctor.

"So how are you adjusting, Belle? I can't imagine what you've been through."

She lowered her head and studied her new shoes as she tried to organize her thoughts. "I'm doing okay. Rumpelstiltskin has been wonderful, helping me every step of the way. And if you're here to suggest I would be better off away from him then I'll stop you now. There's nothing that can make me change my mind."

Archie sighed and looked over at Rum, currently in a heated conversation with King Robert. "Like he said, we've known each other for more than a century. I can honestly say I've never seen him more protective of anyone or anything than he is with you. I know people will talk and say that he's a bad influence on you, but I have to admit, I think you're a better influence on him. He _needs_ you. If you're happy together, then who am I to judge?"

"Thank you, Dr. Hopper," she replied, smiling shyly and feeling another blush creep up her neck. "I suppose talking to you wouldn't hurt too much."

"So what can you tell me about your time in the hospital?"

"Not much to tell, to be honest. I remember long, boring days of isolation, with the sporadic visit by Regina or doctors and nurses, usually there to drug me. Speaking of doctors…I've just spotted an old friend. Oh, John?"

John, son of the Duke of Bluebeard, had been furiously texting on his phone underneath the table. He looked up in surprise and not without a trace a fear. "Uh…hello, Belle. How are you?"

"Just fine. I was actually wondering about you. How is your _artwork_ coming along?"

John cleared his throat loudly and his skin turned a sickly gray. "I'm afraid I haven't had a chance to…create…here in Storybrooke. Being a doctor is very time consuming."

"I'm sure it is," said Belle, seriously. Conversations seemed to quiet all around them as others took notice of Mr. Gold staring at Belle with a mischievous grin on his face.

Archie took notice of the odd exchange and asked, "Artwork, Dr. Whale? I didn't realize you had a hobby. What kind of art do you make?"

"Oh, you know, I'm not sure," added Belle before John could respond. "He's a very private man and doesn't share his work with anyone."

John suddenly looked very smug and visibly relaxed in his chair. "I dabble in a little of this and that. I'm just an amateur."

"Don't be so modest, John!" she said, smiling brightly. "You were quite proud of your work back when we were engaged."

Many eyebrows were raised at that piece of information. "You two were engaged?" asked Charming. Knowing the true reason why she and his twin brother had broken up, he looked menacingly at Dr. Whale. "What happened?"

"We just weren't right for each other, I guess." Belle shrugged, watching John relax even more. "However, it might have had something to do with the fact that he enjoyed murdering the servants, carefully dissecting their bodies and keeping the limbs as trophies!"

John jumped out his chair, knocking it over in his haste. His face contorted in rage as he turned to Rumpelstiltskin and hollered, "We had a deal, Gold! She wasn't supposed to be able to reveal that to anybody!"

Rumpelstiltskin continued to smile but remained silent, allowing Belle her moment. "Don't you remember your end of the deal, John?" she asked innocently.

"Yeah, he said I couldn't marry you or kill you," he replied exasperatedly, as though it had been some great sacrifice.

"Ah, ah, ah!" she admonished him, waving her finger in imitation of Rum from all those years ago. "You couldn't do that OR ever hold me against my will again. Tell me, where have I been for the last 28 years?"

Crestfallen, he replied, "Locked in the basement in the hospital."

"Exactly! Under the sub-par care of a Dr. Whale. You voided the deal, _dearie_, meaning I can tell whomever I want what a sick bastard you really are." She turned triumphantly to Emma. "Sheriff Swan? I'm sure you will find that John has been leaking your plans the last couple of days. Check his phone. He's nothing but one of Regina's pawns."

John flipped the table over, eliciting several cries of surprise. He raced to the exit, knocking over a young, dark haired man in a nice suit who had been lingering by the door. Emma and her father quickly pursued.

"Oh, good Lord!" cried Snow White, holding her stomach. "I once slept with him as Mary Margaret! He could have killed me!"

"I'm sure you were quite safe, dear," said Gold, looking very satisfied. "He couldn't remember his past life any more than you could. It is amazing, though, the dirt that Belle seems to dig up on everyone who wants to marry her."

"What can I say? I have a thing for contracts, I guess. You wouldn't believe what noblemen put in those betrothal documents. Speaking of which…Midas? Robert?"

The two kings stiffened at the sound of their names and their eyes widened in alarm. "Yes, Belle," said King Robert, swallowing hard.

Belle smiled innocently and asked, "You two were just about to commit all of your support to Snow White and her cause, weren't you?"

The king with the former Golden Touch cleared his throat loudly. "Yes, of course, I was. You have my full support, Princess."

"And mine as well," added Robert quickly.

"Fantastic!" exclaimed Belle. "Anyone else still unsure?" She looked pointedly at several of the men, all of whom avoided her eyes.

The two former Princesses exchanged glances and smiled conspiratorially. "Out of curiosity," Snow whispered, "exactly how many times have you been engaged?"

"Engaged? Only four times. Proposed to? Approaching two thousand times…and it seems I know all of their secrets! That's quite a powerful feeling."

"I hate to ask, but does Rumpelstiltskin have one? A deep dark secret, I mean? Anything we should know about?"

Belle smiled fondly at her True Love. "Well, to be fair, he hasn't asked for my hand…yet. But yes…I do know his deepest secret." She winked and lowered her voice even more. "Deep down, underneath all his layers, he's a sweet, kindhearted man. And he'd kill me if he knew I told you that!"

xxxxxxxxxx

Rumpelstiltskin stood by and watched as Belle approached Prince Thomas and his young family on the far side of the room. He was relieved to know that she was making friends in this blasted town, despite her shady association with him. It was hard not to love Belle the minute you met her. Her smiles were always genuine, her kind words always sincere.

Cinderella watched Belle suspiciously as the Prince picked her up and swung her around in his arms, looking like two former lovers. She even hesitated when Belle reached out for baby Alexandria, sending a scathing look in his direction.

It's not as though this was some elaborate plan for Belle to steal the baby, for goodness sakes! Hopefully the Prince didn't tell his wife that he had once asked for Belle's hand. The dumb blonde didn't need another reason to despise his family.

His family. That's how he saw Belle.

For the first time in centuries, he felt like he was given a second chance. He had brought them to this world to find Bae, but now he couldn't imagine his family being complete without Belle by his side.

Putting his hand in his left pant pocket, he sought out the tiny box he had placed in there that morning and gave it a squeeze. Inside was a ring he'd found in his shop his first day in Storybrooke. From the second he first saw it, he knew he could never sell it. It had reminded him too much of Belle and their time together at the Dark Castle.

It was a gold band, shaped like a rose. Each petal was delicately covered in fine diamonds, with a two carat solitaire in the center of the bloom.

He had no intention of proposing today, but he was prepared in case the right moment presented itself. He wanted them to take their relationship slow, give her time to make her own decisions. While he would have loved nothing more than to take her straight to the justice of the peace the moment she regained her memories, he could never do that to her. He would never make those decisions for her. Then he would be no better than her father.

Speaking of which….Moe French, former King, had just entered the hall. He looked as though he had made of effort of dressing for once; not a speck of soil or fertilizer on his Sunday best, and his hair was washed and combed.

Maurice sent him a dark look that would make Cinderella proud and quickly joined his daughter and the royal couple on the other side of the room.

Rumpelstiltskin flexed his fingers and squeezed them into a fist. Now was not the time to give the King a piece of his mind. He knew how badly Belle had been hurt the other day when they went to see her father, to let the man know that his only daughter was in fact alive and well. He had even brought along the repossessed van as a peace offering. What more could he have done?

It wasn't enough. Maurice had given her an ultimatum; her father or her True Love. For the first time in Belle's life, she had chosen love. She was now disowned.

If he was here to make amends, then Rum would not interfere. Hopefully the man had realized what an idiot he truly was and was here to beg her for forgiveness. She would give it too, unconditionally. Belle was not one to hold grudges.

Rumpelstiltskin immersed himself in the blueprints of Regina's mansion in an attempt to not stare at his beloved. He even made idle conversation with the grumpy dwarf, who informed him that while he had never gotten as far as proposing to Belle, the two had in fact once shared a drink at a tavern. His beautiful Belle seemed to charm all kinds of creatures.

After a while, movement caught his eye and he looked up in time to see Maurice exit the room. Quickly searching the hall, he spotted Belle sitting in the corner, wiping a tear from her cheek. He went to her immediately.

"Is everything all right, love?" he asked quietly.

She gave him a watery smile. "Yes, it's fine. We talked for a bit. I think things will be okay, in time." She hooked her arm through his and cuddled up closer. "He wants me to have dinner with him…tonight, at his house. I hope you don't mind, but, you're not invited. I did ask, though. Sorry."

He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and chuckled. "That's fine, love. Have dinner with your father. There's a war council tonight anyway. I think I'm far more suited to planning murder and mayhem than I am at polite dinner conversation anyway. Although, getting your father and I together at a table would probably include a bit of both."

She laughed thickly, standing up and grasping his hand. "You always know the perfect thing to say to cheer me up."

"I aim to please, my lady," he said, bowing deeply. "Does anything else ail you?"

"Hmmm…" she grinned mischievously. "Nothing that ice cream can't cure."

"Ah! As it happens, I am a connoisseur of frozen treats. I think the council can do without me for an hour or so. After you, love."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Belle stood outside her father's home with some trepidation. She studied it closely, the memories of a fake life bubbling to the surface. They were vague and fuzzy, like a long forgotten dream. She knew the house's layout like she knew every corner of her cell in the hospital. The now-broken Curse reminded her that this was her home, yet she had never set foot inside. It was a difficult thing to process.

She wanted to turn around and never come back. Her home was with Rumpelstiltskin, whether he lived in the Dark Castle, or the beautiful pink house. This house was a lie.

It was a simple, insignificant building, one that she had passed a few times on her walks around town but had never noticed. Despite her father's career as a florist, his own lawn was neglected and bare. Shingles peeled away from the roof and paint flaked from the old clapboard, as if they too did not want to stay. An old, faded sign welcomed her to the French's.

King Maurice exited the front door and descended the steps with a buoyancy of one half his age. He lifted her into his arms and swung her around like a child, clutching her tightly. She let the tears flow freely as she laughed and hugged him back. _This_ was real, at least.

"Oh my beautiful, beautiful Belle! I'm so happy he let you out to see me!"

"I'm not his prisoner, Papa!" she scolded. She was growing tired of constantly having to defend Rumpelstiltskin and her choice of staying with him. "He's been wonderful to me, truly. Please, don't worry about me."

"Oh, Petal, you may as well ask me to stop breathing then." He sighed deeply, the sickly sweet smell of alcohol wafted from his lips, burning her nose. Even in this world, it seems he would imbibe too much, too often. "Come in out of this cold, have a cup of tea with me."

He led her through the door, into the sitting room. The air was as stale as the dust was thick. By the looks of the pictures scattered throughout the cluttered room, she hazarded a guess that this room brought about too many painful memories to be used often. She was mesmerized by one picture in particular of herself and her parents, obviously taken when she was still a child. A very young Belle sat demurely in her mother's lap while the two watched Moe as he blew out candles from a cake. Though she knew the photo and memory of it was false, she couldn't help the tears from forming in her eyes.

She missed her family dreadfully, most especially her mother. If the empty liquor bottles stacked neatly in the corner was any indication, Maurice had still not come to terms with Elena's death either.

Moe quickly returned with steaming cups of tea in two old coffee mugs; his declared him as the world's greatest dad; her mug informed her that florists do it in flowerbeds.

"How has your life been here, Papa? Truthfully." She took a careful sip of the hot tea and almost gagged at the taste. It was burnt, weak and full of sugar. "Do you – do you mind being a florist?"

"Well, it doesn't always pay the bills, sweetheart," he sighed, running a hand through his bald spot. "It's been hard making ends meet. But yes, I love working with plants. They remind me so much of your mother, in both worlds."

She reached out a hand and clasped his, squeezing it gently. "She always did love flowers."

"I asked her to marry me in the castle gardens. It was the only place we ever had any privacy," he winked and smiled wistfully at the memory. "Speaking of the old days…do you ever remember me telling you stories of my best friend Harry? Prince Harold?"

When she nodded he continued. "I thought he was dead; dead before I ever fell in love with your mother. Turns out he's alive and well. In this world his name is Robert Croaker and he's a lawyer. I'd like for you to meet him. You would never have been born if it wasn't for him."

She smiled warmly at him. "Of course I'll meet your friend, Papa. I would be honored to meet the great Prince Harold."

"Come on in, Harry!" he hollered in the direction of the kitchen.

Belle's first thought was one of surprise; what was this man doing in the house and how long had he been here? Her second thought was that this man could not be the same one who grew up with her father. Why, he was about the same age as herself!

Harold was almost as tall as her father, but lean and dressed impeccably in a dark suit. While no one, in her own biased opinion, could pull off a suit as well as her True Love could, she had to admit he appeared very dashing. His dark eyes traveled up her slim frame slowly, resting for a moment on her chest and throat, before finally meeting her own. His gaze darkened as he licked his upper lip.

"So this is the famous Beauty of Avonlea. Congratulations, Maurice. She is quite stunning. Not, if you'll excuse me, as beautiful as our dear Elena, but quite alluring in her own right." Belle grew uncomfortable with his staring, as he slowly circled her, admiring her from every angle. She felt like cattle up for auction. "She'll do."

"I'll do?" The sour taste of bile rose in her throat as she absorbed the Prince's words. "What is he talking about, Papa?"

"I'm sorry, Petal. Our Kingdom needs you and you need to be married to rule. We cannot allow Rumpelstiltskin to lay claim on our lands. Harold will make an excellent king. He was to be the rightful ruler in the first place."

Belle slowly backed away from the two men. "You want me to marry a man once engaged to my _mother_? Oh, Papa! How could you?"

She felt her back connect with something solid. Glancing over her left shoulder, she realized she was nowhere near the wall.

"It has been decided, Princess," said the oily voice of Bishop Malthus as he placed his two cold hands on top of her shoulders. "You will marry Prince Harold…tonight. Our kingdom and your soul depend on it."

"You can't be serious!" she cried, trying to escape the cleric's grasp. "There is no way I'm going along with this! You can't force me to marry!"

"Belle, please," implored her father. "This is for your own good. I have to protect you from that monster. If this is the only way, then so be it."

"Besides," said Harold smugly, running the back of his finger down her cheek, "the contracts have already been signed. You belong to me now, Belle. Body and soul."

"Put this on," ordered Malthus, handing her a white, satin sheath dress.

"No. I refuse to go along with this!"

"Oh, my beautiful Belle," whispered Harold, his lips brushing against her ear lobe. "Either you willingly put this dress on…or the nice Bishop and his clerics here will do it for you. And trust me when I tell you, they are not the pious, celibate clergyman everyone believes them to be. They would truly enjoy undressing you. As will I, tonight."

At their sniggers, Belle took the dress and allowed herself to be escorted to the house's only washroom. Once safely locked inside, she vomited into the toilet.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Was that really necessary?" demanded Maurice, watching the clerics leer at his daughter as she was led out of the room.

"Don't worry about it, Maurice," assured Harold, handing him a bottle. "Here, have another drink. This is a celebration, after all!"

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea." Moe downed half the beer in one gulp, praying that it would provide him with the courage he desperately needed. "This isn't like the other times. She was always willing to do her duty before. She's different now. Maybe she needs more time. For God's sake, she was just released from being in a mental institution for 28 years!"

"We need to save her soul, your Majesty," declared Bishop Malthus. "The devil has bewitched her! We will all burn in Hell if the Demon's spawn rules over our lands! This is our only hope."

"This is an order, Sir Maurice!" said Harold. "She will marry me, tonight, with or without her consent."

Tears brimmed in Moe's eyes as he tried to plead his case. "Please, Harry, not my little girl. I won't let anyone hurt her; not Rumpelstiltskin, not you!"

The Prince and Bishop exchanged dark looks. "I'm sorry to hear that, friend. If you're not with us, you're against us. And I don't leave enemies at my back."

Strong arms grabbed his hands and forced them behind him. He felt a sharp tug as his wrists were bound with twine and his mouth was gagged with a tea towel. He fought hard to breathe as blind panic overtook him.

"Shhh…it's okay, friend," soothed Harold. "I'm not going to kill you. You're my little insurance policy. As long as I keep you alive, she'll do as she's told."

Bishop Malthus banged sharply on the bathroom door. "Come out, woman! You'll only make things worse for your father if we have to break down the door."

Belle emerged from the room, looking as green as Rumpelstiltskin in the old world. The dress covered all the essential areas but little else. It ended just above her knees and was completely open in the back, revealing her perfect skin. She hugged her arms, rubbing them for warmth or courage. Maurice was shaken to see his little girl wearing something so skimpy.

"Hitch that skirt up a bit, sweetheart," crooned a blond cleric, causing the others to laugh and slap each other's backs. Moe recognized him as one of the dock workers here in Storybrooke with a seedy reputation.

Oh gods! What has he done?

"Shall we begin, your Majesty?" asked the Bishop to Harold, ignoring Maurice completely.

With a curt nod, Malthus began the ancient ceremony from their home. "No other human ties are more tender and no other vows more important than those you are about to take. Both of you come to this day with the deep realization that the contract of marriage is sacred as are all of its obligations and responsibilities. You come together today in the understanding that you are no longer two individuals, but one symbiotic partnership, each providing what the other lacks."

He turned to Harold. "Prince Harold, do you take Princess Belle into this marriage? Do you promise to provide her safety, security and protect the children she will bring to your hearth?"

"I do."

Turning to Belle, he asks. "Princess Belle, do you take Prince Harold into this marriage? Do you promise to honor him, obey him, and love the children you will bring to his hearth?"

Sniffling, Belle looked down at the floor, still clutching her arms to shield her from view. Harold roughly grabbed her upper arm and squeezed tightly, eliciting a cry from her lips. Maurice struggled against his restraints but the clergymen surrounding him held him in check. The crude cleric from earlier produced a knife from his robes and held it against Moe's throat, drawing blood.

"Say it, Belle!" commanded the Prince. "Say the words or your father's throat will be slashed." He dropped his voice low and whispered mockingly into her ear. "Everyone has a choice, _dearie_. Make sure it's the right one."

Maurice managed to work the gag from his mouth and pushed it away with his tongue. "Don't do it, Belle!" he wheezed. "I'm old. I've lived my life."

The eyes that locked with his were full of regret and sadness. "I – I do."

"Then by the powers that be, I now pronounce you man and wife. May the Gods bless this union and the sons you will sire."

Harold turned Belle towards him, forcefully tugging her gaze away from her father to meet his own. "You know what they say, my wife," he whispered, lowering his lips to hers. "You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your Prince."

Maurice turned away as his former best friend roughly kissed his daughter. His poor little girl squeezed her eyes shut as a tear flowed freely down her cheek. When he finally released his hold on her, she crumpled to the ground and vomited on the floor.

"Ugh! Disgusting!" cried Harold, quickly stepping away. "Release Maurice's hands. Let him help her up."

Maurice picked up his trembling daughter and held her tightly as she sobbed. The clerics, now gathered around the Prince, ignored them and began to speak in earnest. Moe felt Belle stir in his arms and look over at the men who once held so much power in their world. "Papa, listen to me very carefully," whispered Belle calmly. There was no trace in her voice of the hysterics he had just witnessed and her eyes were dry and determined. "You must get Rumpelstiltskin. Tell him what's happened. He'll come for me."

"What? I can't go to _him_, child! He's a monster!"

"No, Papa, he's a good man! The real monsters are right over there. They're going to hurt me. Don't you understand that? Harold doesn't want me! He wants to be King. And with the Bishop's blessing there's nothing that can stop him now. Nothing…except Rumpelstiltskin. You have to trust me."

"What if he doesn't believe me?"

"Tell him _idiot number five_ has me. He'll understand. Get away the first chance you – " Belle choked up into another round of fake sobbing and clutched his shirt in a death grip.

"Stop sniveling, woman," ordered Harold, grabbing her hair and forcing her to stand. "We have to get to the church."

Maurice stood shakily to his feet. "What are you talking about, Harry? We _just_ had the wedding!"

"Yes, but before I can…take…Belle as my bride, I need her to be purified. God knows what the imp has done to her. Bishop Malthus will take it from here."

"You don't have to do that," pleaded Belle. The fear radiating off her was palpable. "I'm still a maiden! I'm still an innocent!"

"I highly doubt that," said Malthus, leering at her figure-hugging dress. "But even if your body is pure your soul is not. You have been corrupted. The ritual will take place, for your sake as well as ours."

Belle wrapped her arms around Maurice's large frame. "Go, Papa," she whispered. "Find him." As the clerics led them out the front door and to a row of cars, Maurice kissed the top of Belle's head and squeezed her shoulders.

"I'm gonna be sick!" he slurred, stumbling away from his daughter towards his neighbor's bushes. Once the arms gripping him hastily slackened, he regained his stance and ran as quickly as possible down the darkened road.

"Run, you drunk!" Harold cried after him. "No one will help you! Your daughter is _mine,_ now!"

Sweat ran into Maurice's eyes as he jogged through Storybrooke. Damn Gold for living on the other side of town! The streets were eerily quiet for this time of night. Not many residents wandered about after dark now. With the curse broken and memories restored, the town was no longer the safe haven it once was.

It was more difficult now to spot the monsters.

Larger houses now filled the streets. He didn't need the street signs to tell him where he was. He recognized his own handiwork in the landscaping. Gold's house was just around the corner, though the cheap bastard had never used his services.

The garish pink house was awash in light. Despite the lateness of the hour, the street was well lit and he quickly made his way up the stone path. Before he could reach the porch steps, however, he connected with something solid and was thrown back.

What the hell was that? he wondered, wishing desperately for a drink to clear his head.

"GOLD!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. He jumped once more at the invisible barrier and was unsurprised when he was thrown back, landing hard on his back. By gods, he hated this imp! "Rumpelstiltskin! Gold!"

Picking himself up again, he backed up for a running start and launched himself once more towards the house. His body continued forward, landing unceremoniously in a heap at the steps.

He was through.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The dining room of the notorious pink house in Storybrooke, Maine had never been so crowded. In the twenty eight years since the curse had been enacted, Mr. Gold had never had more than one guest at a time.

Today there were no less than ten people sitting on his antique furniture, drinking his expensive alcohol and looking decidedly uncomfortable being in the beast's lair It had been his idea to organize the war council at his home because it was the only place in town he could guarantee Regina could not access. At least the blasted Blue Fairy wasn't there. She couldn't get through his wards even if she had wanted to enter his house.

If there was one thing he despised, it was Fairies!

He was comfortable with Sheriff Swan, her newly reunited parents and the cricket, but the rest he barely tolerated. He had been counting on having Belle there as a buffer.

She was his soul mate – his better half. But more importantly, she was the one with people skills!

Unfortunately, she was meeting up with her father tonight. He had wanted to say no, to lock her in his house for ever, to keep her safe from the outside world. ..but no, he couldn't do that to her. Then he would be no better than Regina.

"Like I've already said twice,_ Puppet_," Rumpelstiltskin snarled at the newly restored wooden man, "the Queen does not yet have the full extent of her powers and she has yet to leave her mansion. Now is the perfect time for a pre-emptive strike!"

"She wouldn't have any power at all, _imp_, if you hadn't brought magic back in the first place!"

His reply about firewood died on his lips as the house rocked with such fierceness that the scattered knick knacks rattled on their recently dusted shelves.

"Someone's trying to get through my shields," growled Gold, craning his head to look out the window.

"_Gold_!" someone cried, outside. The house shook again and the lights briefly dimmed. "_Rumpelstiltskin_! _Gold_!"

"That's Moe French," said Leroy, frowning. "What's he doing here?"

The florist launched himself once more at the invisible wall. With a wave of his hand, Rumpelstiltskin lowered the wards, allowing Moe to gain entrance. He fell hard, clearly not expecting the broken barrier, and raised shakily to his feet.

He burst through the door, not bothering to knock. The former King stopped short at the sight of a dozen people crowded around Rum's enormous rectangular dining room table. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was a damp, tangled mess atop his head.

Emma Swan stood up, her shiny sheriff's badge still hooked to her belt. "Mr. French, are you all right?"

His shoulders hunched dejectedly and he licked his lower lip. Rumpelstiltskin glared at him from the head of the table, closest to the door. Without so much as a word, he made his way over and grabbed Rum's tumbler of amber liquid and quickly tossed it back in one gulp. "Bloody Hell that's good!"

"Now that you've managed to consume about $50 worth of my Scotch, would you mind telling me what the Hell you're doing here?"

"This is all your fault, you know that?" he panted. "You ruined her! Why couldn't you just leave her alone? Why did you have to interfere?"

Rumpelstiltskin felt his blood boil in his veins as he looked at the drunken King now downing Dr. Hopper's drink.

He changed his mind. If there was one thing he honestly, truly despised, it was Moe French!

"If I hadn't interfered, as you so eloquently put it, your daughter would have been slaughtered by ogres, or worse, spent the rest of her life with that abusive oaf, Gaston. If I hadn't interfered, she would have died at the hands of Prince Humperdinck when he used her as a human shield to protect his own pathetic self. If I hadn't interfered, she would have been sliced and diced into pieces by creepy Dr. Whale and made part of his collection! If I hadn't interfered, she never would have survived the injuries she sustained from that bastard Prince James throwing her off the cliff! So don't you dare tell me that I ruined her! I love her more than you ever will."

"What the Hell are you talking about, Gold?"

"Every man you forced on her has tried to kill her, you idiot! You've been too damn drunk to notice! You have no idea how brave and intelligent she is! How much she's willing to sacrifice for her people. She knew she would be my price and yet she still called me. That's who Belle really is! Now where is she?"

"He's got her," he wheezed, collapsing into a chair. "He has her at the church. She told me to tell you…idiot number five…said you'd understand."

"I'm sorry," said Charming, always wanting to come to the rescue, "but who or what is _idiot number five_?"

Gold ignored the Prince and asked coldly, "Who is it? Give me his name."

"Harry. Prince Harold."

"Do you mean to tell me, after everything, EVERYTHING, she has gone through, you've arranged another marriage? You realize, of course, that she won't go through with it, right?"

"She already has. The wedding was twenty minutes ago."

"_What_?"

"She had no choice. They were going to kill me!"

"They?" he whispered dangerously. "Who is 'they'?"

"Clerics."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Where are you taking me?" asked Belle, feeling a sense of déjà vu. In that case it had been a dark and gloomy dungeon. She couldn't imagine there were any real dungeons in Storybrooke, but her cell in the hospital was as close as they came. She could only pray they wouldn't take her back there.

"Somewhere safe from your little boyfriend, darling," he drawled. "Don't worry. Soon you'll forget all about him."

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked.

"We're going to save your soul, Belle. Then you'll be mine, forever."

The cars pulled up in front of an old church, parking as far away from the only street light in the parking lot. Malthus and the clerics disappeared into the darkness, bi-passing the building and heading instead towards the cemetery.

"Bishop Malthus is the town priest," explained Harold, guiding her forward. "He thought it best to do this here, but not inside the church. Far too messy, and he does have mass in the morning."

Someone set up a search light, momentarily blinding her. The hand that held her arm tightened sharply; a silent warning not to run. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw the clerics busy at work, building a bonfire and removing objects from a rusted chest.

"Bought these this morning at your boyfriend's shop," said a cheery voice to her left. Her wrists were shackled with ancient iron cuffs and the rusted chain was tossed over the high branch of a deep-rooted oak tree. "Let me know if it's too tight."

She cried out in pain as the chain was pulled tightly by four men, forcing her body upwards. Her toes barely touched the cold ground and her arms quickly went slack.

"Beautiful," Malthus whispered, caressing her bare back with a lover's touch.

Belle struggled against his touch, wanting to vomit again, though her stomach was empty. She must remain calm. She must stall them until Rum arrives!

"Harold, wait! Why me? You're a handsome, successful man in this world and a prince in the other. Surely there are lots of women who would kill for the chance to be with you. Why not one of them?"

"I'm getting my revenge, love," he replied, removing a leather whip from the chest. "It's time for retribution. This is _my_ happy ending!"

"I don't understand." She tried to keep her voice steady but the ache in her arms was getting to be too much to handle. Her fingers were already numb from lack of circulation. She didn't know how long she could last. "Explain it to me."

"I was the fifth and youngest son of a poor King. My brothers fought and even killed each other for the throne but I wanted nothing to do with it. I had bigger plans. King Gareth's lands were vastly wealthy but he had no male heir. His wife and son had died of the fever, leaving him with only a useless daughter. The law stated that she must be married to inherit and Gareth had fallen ill. He decided she needed a husband, and fast! As you know, finding a suitable mate takes time. He took a different route. He held a tournament and the prize was your mother's hand in marriage. Every eligible Prince, Duke, Earl and Baron attended."

"I heard about that," she gasped, feeling a trickle of blood running down her arm. "My mother said it was an archery contest; one of the most difficult competitions ever held in our lands. So you won?"

"I was no marksman. I didn't stand a chance with a bow. My father had us study the sword; a gentleman's sport. Archery was for hunters; for commoners! I needed an edge; I needed Rumpelstiltskin. He gave me a special bow whose arrow always reached its target. Always. It worked. I easily beat everyone! All my dreams were suddenly coming true. Elena and I became engaged; I was to someday become King of one of the wealthiest realms. Everything was perfect."

"So what happened?"

"Rumpelstiltskin happened! He came to collect his payment but I didn't have it. I was supposed to steal some magical books from the library but I never found them. I asked the caretaker and he said they had been locked up, where no one but the King himself knew where. I tried to trick the King into telling me where they were but he grew suspicious. I couldn't reveal why I needed the information."

Harold grew angry, flexing the weapon in his hands. "No one breaks deals with Rumpelstiltskin and gets away with it. He transformed me into a frog! A God damn frog! The only way I could turn back was if I was kissed by a Princess. Your mother loved flowers so I spent weeks in the gardens, trying to get her attention. It finally worked. I couldn't speak but I could get her notice me in other ways. She thought I was so clever, the way I bounced around, fetching her flowers. It was humiliating! Finally, she held me in her palm and was about to raise me to her lips, when _he_ showed up!"

"Rumpelstiltskin?"

"No! Your father! That traitorous bastard just couldn't leave her alone. He made his move the second I disappeared. She ran into his arms and they walked away, leaving me all alone. The weather took a turn for the worst and she didn't return to the gardens. I had to find shelter before I froze to death. I spent almost thirty years as a frog, until this blessed curse brought us to this world without magic, and I regained my true form."

The bonfire crackled loudly and warmed her back. The clerics began a slow chant that increased in pitch with every moment. Whatever was about to happen, would be happening very soon. Her time was up.

"My mother told me how she and Papa met," she said quickly, trying one last time to reach him. "She said that her fiancé had been killed. They believed it was an assassination attempt by his brothers, and my father was ordered to stay by her side, as protection. They never meant to fall in love, but the heart wants what the hearts wants. They didn't intend to betray you, I'm sure of it!"

"Intent is meaningless!" he cried, slashing he whip down upon her bare back. The sharp leather cut into her skin like a knife, drawing blood and a scream from her lips. Her back was suddenly on fire with pain. The clerics continued with their ancient song.

"Princess Belle," boomed the commanding voice of Bishop Malthus. "You have been found guilty of cavorting with demons. You are guilty of laying with beasts. You are guilty of being bewitched by dark magic. Confess your sins for salvation."

"Go to Hell!" cried Belle, spitting in the cleric's face.

Malthus nodded to Harold, who brought the whip down upon her back again, slicing her skin over the bleeding wound.

"Confess, whore!"

"I am untouched, you bastard! He never took advantage of me! He is a good man, better than any of you!"

The whip connected a third time. Her body buckled in pain, blood now pouring from her chafed wrists.

"What did he have you do, woman?" Malthus commanded dangerously.

Belle laughed bitterly, sweat and blood soaking her white satin dress. "Skin children for their pelts. Cook babies into stews. They're quite delicious with gravy, you know."

At a nod from the Bishop, one of the clerics withdrew a poker from the fire. A metal pentacle glowed red from the heat. He jabbed it roughly against her left shoulder, searing her skin and forever marking her with the ancient symbol of dark magic.

"Anything else you'd like to add, Princess," asked Harold.

"Yeah," Belle replied, panting heavily. She looked each of them in the eye. "Rumpelstiltskin is _really_ going to enjoy killing you."

The whip connected with the charred skin. She felt the cool earth collect between her toes as they curled, digging into the ground. Her last thought, before the darkness consumed her, was of Rumpelstiltskin.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Rumpelstiltskin had never been more grateful for magic than he was at this moment. While he no longer had the ability to materialize at will, what little magic he did possess was able to heal his crippled leg the moment he had regained his power, allowing him now to run out of his house faster than he had in decades.

Clerics; his worst nightmare come to life. For thirty years he had dreamed of his beautiful, innocent Belle being tortured by the crazed religious sect for no reason other than having been associated with him. He had believed Regina so easily because he knew what the clergymen were truly capable of. They had magic of their own; weak and insignificant compared his power, but magic nonetheless.

They were ruthless, cruel and sanctimonious bastards! If they touched but one hair on Belle's head they would beg him for death. Despite his fearsome reputation, Rumpelstiltskin _did_ possess compassion.

They would never know it.

He drove erratically down the empty streets of Storybrooke, heading to the church that sat on property he owned, but one he had never stepped foot upon. Even if the despicable fairies were not nuns in this world, he still would have nothing to do with the Church; Christianity and the clerics had far too much in common for his liking.

Pulling into the parking lot, he briefly wondered if anyone else from the war council was following him. He wondered if any of them even realized the seriousness of the situation! Probably not. They were all idiots.

He spotted a bright light out in the cemetery and followed it, noting that the old building was still locked and dark. His short stature and black suit were enough to hide him from prying eyes, allowing him to come up behind the spot light unseen.

There she was! Her arms were bound above her head and her body was slack in the shackles. She was clad in a revealing crimson and white dress that he knew she would never wear willingly. She must be freezing.

As he crept closer, he realized that her dress was not in fact red but covered in blood! He could see it dripping down her bare arms. He had not felt rage like this since Bae had disappeared through the vortex. No longer caring about the element of surprise, he sprinted between the tombstones, desperate to get to his beloved.

Before he could reach the clearing near the tree, however, he was thrown backwards, landing hard against a granite monument.

They had wards; wards he could not penetrate.

"Do my eyes deceive me or did I just see Mr. Gold flying through the air?" a mocking voice said in the darkness. "Are you hoping to earn your fairy wings, Rumpelstiltskin?"

Rum struggled to stand as the clerics laughter echoed around him. "Is that you, Mr. Croaker? Funny how I suddenly have a craving for frog's legs. You won't be needing yours after tonight."

He saw the group of men surrounding the bonfire, chanting the magical words that created the invisible barrier. Already they showed signs of fatigue. They couldn't keep up the singing forever.

"What's your plan, Croaker? You know these shields won't hold for long."

"You don't say?" said the former frog Prince. He brought the whip down once more onto Belle's back. Her body bounced from the hit but she remained blissfully unconscious.

"You bastard!" he screamed, lunging at the invisible wall once more. It crackled around him.

At least she hadn't felt that one. He couldn't bear to hear her scream. Oh he was going to enjoy killing these men. If only he could penetrate the wards…

"Revenge is fun, is it not?" asked Harold, handing the bloody whip to the Bishop and getting a leather flay in return. "Just think how many people I can ruin by hurting one insignificant girl."

He raised the flay over his right shoulder and aimed it at Belle's ruined body. "Wait!" cried Rumpelstiltskin. "If you want revenge then strap me to that tree. There's no reason to hurt her."

"There's every reason to hurt her!" he screamed, bringing the weapon down on her. "This isn't all about you, you know! I hate her father. I hate her mother. I hate the fact that I lost out on an entire Kingdom because of you! If anyone deserves to pay, it's her."

Rum kicked the ground hard in frustration; he hated feeling so useless, so desperate. Shattered fragments of stone and dirt went flying everywhere. Some pieces landed just a few feet away from the bonfire…inside the barrier!

People could not pass, but objects could!

"Be a man for once, Prince Harold!" shouted Rum, vying for time. If only he could get the prince away from Belle long enough… "Maurice was only a knight and he was able to earn Elena's love. You couldn't even win her hand in that tournament without cheating; without help from me! Now you're hiding behind a group of cowardly men to justify your revenge. You're pathetic!"

Harold threw the flay to the ground and approached Rum, several feet away from the barrier's edge. "Do you have _any_ idea how difficult it is to get a Princess to kiss you?"

Rum withdrew the gun from his suit pocket and leveled it right at the Prince's chest. "As a matter of fact, I do."

The bullet penetrated the magical shield easily and pierced the Prince's sternum. His eyes rounded in surprise as the force of the shot sent him falling backwards into Bishop Malthus. The remaining clerics jumped at the sound of the gun, ending their insistent chanting. The wards shimmered then flickered out completely.

Rumpelstiltskin carefully set one foot into the clearing and, finding his path unobstructed, stepped the rest of the way in. Malthus heaved the body of the former prince off of himself and quickly crawled backwards, away from the sorcerer slowly coming towards him. The clergymen stood transfixed around the bonfire, too scared or stupid to run away.

"Rum?" called a faint voice to his left. Turning his gaze briefly from the men, Gold locked eyes with Belle, who seemed to fall in and out of consciousness.

"Don't worry, love. I'm here," he replied, unsure if she had even heard him.

Suddenly, a blond cleric made his way to Belle's side, withdrew a knife and brought it to her throat. "Stay back, Demon, or your sweetheart gets it!"

"Oh, dearie," said Gold. "That was a foolish, foolish mistake."

He still had the gun but was unwilling to use it so close to Belle. Instead, he slowly lowered it with exaggerated caution. When his hand was mere inches from the ground, he let the gun drop and quickly scooped up the whip that lay on the grass. With a flick of his wrist, the whip shot out, slicing the cheek of the blond idiot.

The man cried out in pain, clutching his face and dropping the knife.

Rum jumped at him, knocking him to the ground. Malthus quickly followed, wrapping his arms around Rum's midsection. Although much taller, the Bishop's reactions were too slow to avoid the elbow that smashed into his mouth.

Gold was dropped hard to the ground, twisting his ankle. Ignoring the pain, his hand grasped the fallen knife and swiftly slashed upwards, catching a surprised Malthus in the chest. The other clerics quickly joined the fight at the sight of their fallen leader.

A muddy boot connected with Gold's temple. His vision blurred long enough for another kick to make contact, this time with his ribs. The resounding crack dropped him to the ground as he desperately fought for breath.

"Behind you!" cried Belle.

Her voice had never sounded sweeter to Rum's ears. Unfortunately, the warning wasn't enough to penetrate his foggy thoughts. Hands roughly grabbed him, forcing him to stand. He swayed, unable to support his weight. His trembling fingers grasped onto the arms that held him, noticing for the first time that he still held the knife.

"We're going to have fun with your woman, Gold," grunted a man he recognized as one of his deadbeat tenants. "Now we're all gonna have our revenge on you."

"No!" screamed Rumpelstiltskin. He thrashed the knife into the man's chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. He quickly spun around on his good foot, sending a burst of magic into the face of another cleric, this one exploding into dust. Two set of hands grabbed his arms, pinning him in place.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated all of his energy to his fingertips. Two balls of light grew from his palms, growing with every thought. Finally it crested, discharging beams of pure energy that sliced through the cleric's bodies like a hot knife.

"Rum?" panted Belle. Opening his eyes, he realized that everyone was dead but him and his beloved. "Look at me, Rum!"

"It's all right, love," he soothed. "Don't be afraid."

She squeezed her eyes shut but the tears still fell. Her breathing was too heavy and rapid. Before Rumpelstiltskin could reach her, she had once again fallen into unconsciousness. His fingers trembled as he tried desperately to unhook the chain. Once released, she was finally lowered to the ground, relieving the unbearable pressure from her wrists.

"Belle? Belle! Wake up, love!"

She didn't stir. Blood poured from her arms, her back, her lips.

"Oh, shit, Gold! What happened?" cried Sheriff Swan, suddenly appearing next to the spot light.

"She's injured, Miss Swan! Badly! I have to stop the bleeding!" Gold's fingers trembled as he ran them over her gaping wounds, willing them to close like he had the first time he laid eyes on her. She had been broken and beaten worse then and had survived. She had to live now! He couldn't bear to lose her again.

"We need to get her to the hospital, Gold," pleaded Emma.

"I won't send her back there!" he cried. His magic wasn't working. Her injuries were not healing. Concentrating harder, he put every last bit of strength into the effort. Slowly, the wounds began to close, leaving faint white scars from where blood had been gushing. Moving to her wrists, the purple mist enveloped her hands, revealing smooth skin underneath.

The area around him began to darken. His first thought was that someone had removed the spot light. He then quickly realized the darkness was inside of him, pulling him into unconsciousness. He fought it with what little strength he had remaining.

"Wake up, love." Belle began to stir beneath him but had yet to open her eyes. Leaning over her carefully, he lowered his head and brought his lips to hers. Her lashes fluttered open and he finally caught a glimpse of the most beautiful shade of blue.

Smiling weakly, he allowed the darkness to finally consume him and he collapsed next to his beloved.

xxxxxxxxxx

Rumpelstiltskin awoke slowly in the familiar comfort of his own bed. His arm sought out the form that should have been next to him and was disappointed when he felt only the cold, silk sheets. He thought perhaps the past few days had in fact been a dream, that the curse had not been broken, that his darling Belle had not returned from the dead. Then he caught the faint scent of roses on the next pillow. She was real. She really had been here.

He opened his eyes slightly and was immediately drawn to the faint light emanating from the window. She was there, sitting on the window seat, wrapped in one of his old sweaters, a small lamp illuminating her features. She had been crying. Her pale, gray skin was marred only by a few smudges of dirt around her temples that she had either missed or hadn't yet noticed. She stared forlornly at something in her hand, something small that reflected the light back into his eyes.

She had found the ring.

"I know it's tradition to ask the father's permission first," he grunted as he sat up, eliciting a gasp from her lips, "but in this case, I figured he's played too large a role in your engagements."

She laughed thickly and swiped away a tear that escaped her tired eyes. "I think he's forfeited any more involvement in my love life, after tonight." She carefully unwrapped her legs from underneath her and slowly made her way to the bed. She looked weary as she sat next to him, her hands shaking slightly. "So this is for me?"

"I was waiting for the right moment. I didn't want you to feel pressured into anything. I wanted you to have time to adjust to this life, to be sure before I asked you."

"I'm glad you didn't ask," she said quietly, looking at the ring.

His heart shattered in his chest. He knew it was too good to be true, that one day she would come to her senses and see what a monster he really was, deep inside. He must have truly scared her last night, watching as he methodically killed the clerics and her…_husband_.

Idiot, he thought to himself. It was so similar to Bae that it hurt. It didn't matter that he did it for them, that he thought of nothing but their safety. The fact remained that he gave into his hate and killed. He was a murderer. He was no better than any of the bastards that had been lucky enough to call her their fiancé.

Now he had lost both of them.

He turned his head away from her and willed the hot tears pooling in his eyes not to spill. He didn't want her to know just how badly her rejection hurt him. He wanted her to be able to leave here with her head held high, knowing she made the right decision for herself.

A small, warm hand brushed a few tendrils of hair off of his face. She placed her fingertips underneath his chin, gently tilting his head to face her. When he finally opened his eyes, it was to see her bright smile shining down on him, a slight blush creeping up her throat to her cheeks.

"I'm glad," she whispered, "because _I_ wanted to ask _you_."

For the first time in his life, Rumpelstiltskin, the famed Deal Maker, the spinner of words, was speechless. His breath hitched in his lungs and his throat constricted painfully as his mind tried to catch up to his ears.

Smiling mischievously, Belle dropped down to one knee and placed his cold, shaking hand into her own warm one. "Rumpelstiltskin, you are the only person that has ever given me a choice to decide my own fate. Because of you, I was able to be brave and strong. I once promised you forever. Now, I'm asking you to promise me the same. Will you marry me?"

Unable to respond, he took the ring from her grasp and very carefully slipped it on her delicate finger. It was a perfect fit.

"It would be an honor, my lady," he whispered, bringing her knuckles to his lips for a lingering kiss. "I promise to love and protect you, forever. I promise this won't be like the others."

"I know," she whispered, as he gently wiped the hot tears that rolled down her cheeks. "This time will be different."


End file.
